Love Thy Neighbour
by Alexannah
Summary: - PaS Featured Story - The Dursley family move house, and Harry is horrified to find that they are now living opposite his most hated Potions Master. Between Snape and the Dursleys, will Harry make it to the Burrow in one piece? NOW COMPLETE!
1. Moving Day

**Canon:** AU. Pre-GoF. Snape and Petunia  do not know each other.

 **Rating/warnings:** T for neglect, emotional abuse and mentions of caning.

 **AN:** I'm entering this fic into the Summer 2015 Fic Fest over on Potions and Snitches. It's a response to two challenges posted there: "Neighbours" by Mellow Moon (challenge #711), and "Grounded!" by ravenhaired88 (challenge #878). Updates will be frequent as I have virtually the whole thing written already, and hope to have the last few chapters finished in the next few days.

* * *

 **Love Thy Neighbour**

By Alexannah

 **Chapter One: Moving Day**

Harry stared out of the Dursleys' car window, taking in the scenery and trying not to faint. The air conditioner was on maximum, but Harry was still crammed in the back with Dudley, who was ignoring Harry and on his Game Boy.

It felt strange, thinking he would never see Privet Drive again. But not unpleasantly so. However, Harry doubted things would be any better at the new house. Since they were downsizing due to Vernon's firm going bust, he thought it might even be worse.

It had been a long journey. Harry knew the Dursleys didn't want the shame of the neighbours knowing about Grunnings, so they had elected to move about a hundred miles away—not an exaggeration—where nobody knew them.

Harry didn't expect he would make any better an impression on the new neighbours than he did on the old ones (not if the Dursleys had any say in the matter), so he wasn't too excited.

"Here we are," Vernon said with slightly forced cheer as they passed a sign saying _Welcome to Hastings_.

Harry took a little more interest now they were close. He caught glimpses of the sea, sparkling grey-blue in the distance. Signs pointed to the town centre, to the seafront, to the tourist attractions, but the car instead wound its way through a residential area until spotting a road sign reading _Arrow Close_.

"We're here."

Harry hadn't been to view the house with them, but he could see immediately which one it was, thanks to the removal van parked outside. There were ten white houses in a cul-de-sac, almost identical to each other, with a park up the end. Theirs, Number Nine, was the first house on the right. It had an overgrown garden, and the number was hanging off its hinges.

They stopped on the road outside and all got out. Harry's legs were a little shaky from the two-hour trip.

"You, boy," Vernon said to him, "help the removal men with the unloading—and if you break _anything_ , there will be hell to pay. Dudders, why don't you come in and pick a bedroom?"

The bleak wallpaper in the hall and living-room was peeling, but Harry didn't get much of an opportunity to reflect on the fact that he would probably be made to redecorate the lot. He heaved furniture around for what seemed like hours, until, faint from the heat and hunger, he nearly passed out and one of the men made him sit down and drink some water while they finished off. When he was finally allowed to stop, and given nourishment (a couple of carrot sticks), he was in for a nasty shock.

Harry's bedroom at Privet Drive had been pretty small—but his new one was _miniscule_. There was barely room to walk around the bed, which wasn't his full-size one from his last room, but the child's one from his old cupboard. Once his trunk was moved in and Hedwig's cage set up on the window-sill—the only available surface—he could barely move.

"Don't be so ungrateful," Aunt Petunia snapped when Harry pointed out that his feet were hanging off the length of the bed. "We couldn't afford a proper third room. We're not made of money! Dudley has much less space as well and you should be thankful you get a bedroom at all."

As Harry unpacked, he wondered how anyone could have classed this as a third bedroom. After visiting the bathroom, he discovered to his humiliation, that it was almost twice the size of his own room. He figured the last owners had wanted a much bigger bathroom and had no need for a third bedroom, so had swapped them round. Judging by the musty smell, lack of carpet or proper flooring, and shelving marks, Harry's new room had simply been storage space.

Great. He was sleeping in a bathroom-turned-cupboard. One with a large patch of damp on the outside wall.

All Harry had to do to unpack was to let Hedwig out and fold up his clothes under the bed. He checked the floorboards, but none of them were loose, so he would have to risk storing any food his friends could send him in his trunk. Now seemed as good a time as any to write the requests; Hedwig looked like she wanted to stretch her wings, and the Dursleys were heavily involved with trying to console Dudley about the size of his new room.

As Harry wrote, leaning on the window-sill for lack of a desk—or table or any furniture at all—Harry wondered what Sirius would make of this new development. He knew the Dursleys were scared stiff he'd show up and do something horrible to them, but even that hadn't stopped this. Which probably meant Aunt Petunia's insistence that they couldn't afford better wasn't just an excuse.

Maybe he wouldn't say anything. There was no point Sirius deciding to pay them a visit, and risk getting himself caught, just because Harry had a tiny damp bedroom. _Get over yourself,_ Harry told himself. _It's still better than the cupboard._

He finished his letters to Ron and Hermione explaining the diet situation, sent them off with Hedwig. The window was small and could only be opened a little way, so Hedwig had to duck through. She made a hoot that clearly expressed her derision of the exit option.

"Sorry, Hedwig," Harry said. "I wish there was more room as well."

When she left, Harry really looked out of his window for the first time. Movement caught his eye after she was out of sight; someone was weeding in the opposite house's front garden, long dark hair falling over their face. Harry wondered idly what the neighbours _would_ be like, and if there _was_ any point trying to make a good impression before the Dursleys had a chance to prejudice them against him with their lies.

Admittedly, the summer—and future summers—would pass a lot less painfully if Harry had someone to talk to. This was a chance for a whole new start. And right now, the Dursleys were engrossed in moving in. He would never get a better chance.

Harry slipped out of the house unnoticed, and wandered up and down the road, wondering where to begin. The opposite neighbour had gone inside, but a couple of others were in their gardens. A small child stared at him shyly from behind Number Four's fence, and an old lady outside Number Eight was clipping her hedge. As if feeling Harry's presence, she turned and gave him a warm smile.

"Hello, dear," she said brightly, pushing her sunglasses further up her nose.

"Hi," Harry said awkwardly. He'd never been very good at introducing himself.

"Did you just move into Number Nine?"

Harry nodded, then added, "I'm Harry."

"Jane Halliwell. Welcome to the neighbourhood."

"Thanks."

"There's no need to be shy," she said astutely, "we're quite a friendly bunch." Harry smiled. "Well, except for Number Ten—he's a little … strange. I wouldn't bother him if I were you. But the rest of us are very pleasant. You're welcome to come in. I have brownies in the oven."

Harry's stomach audibly growled, and he went scarlet as she chuckled. "I think that's a yes. Come on, round the side here."

His mouth watered; the last meal he had had that had consisted of more than salad or crackers was nearly a week ago. "That's very kind of you, um …

"Oh, just Jane is fine, lovie. Come on in, you look as if you could do with something to eat."

He followed her into the shade of her kitchen, heartily accepted the delicious brownies hot from the oven and the glass of water, and tried to answer all her eager questions. Where had they moved from? Were they settling in okay? How old was he? Would his parents like to come over for a cuppa when everything was sorted out?

"Um, actually," Harry replied to that one, "my parents are dead. I live with my aunt and uncle."

Jane was a senior Mrs Weasley, he thought as she declared her sympathy with tears in her eyes and offered him another brownie. He wasn't normally inclined to play the pity card, but to get one over on the Dursleys, he was willing to give it a go.

"I don't even remember my mum and dad," he said mournfully, causing Jane's eyes to well up again. "I was only a baby when they died. And my aunt and uncle never wanted me around. They don't understand me at all. The last place we lived, they spread all sorts of lies about me to the neighbours so I never had any friends either."

Jane wiped her eyes on her oven gloves. "Oh, you poor thing. That's simply horrible. What sort of lies?"

"They told everyone I'm a criminal," Harry said. "Actually I'm sure they'll start doing it again once they get settled in, they're not ones for changing their habits."

"What awful people! Don't you worry, pet, I'll make sure to get the record straight with everyone before they get a chance. Criminal, indeed … why, _that's_ criminal! A sweet young man like you?"

"Could you be subtle about it?" Harry asked eagerly; this was going like a dream. "Only, if they find out I've been saying this stuff, I'll be in big trouble."

"I understand, Harry. Don't fret. We look after our own around here. None of us will breathe a word."

"Thank you. Really. I'm so grateful. Also," Harry said, "you might want to warn the kids around here about my cousin. He's kind of a bully."

"So I will."

Harry returned to the new house before the Dursleys could miss him, pockets full of baked goods and feeling much happier. He slipped unnoticed back inside and up to his bedroom, where he ate one more brownie (wow, Jane was a good cook) and stored the rest in his trunk.

Maybe this summer wouldn't be so bad after all.

 **TBC …**


	2. Taste of Your Own Medicine

**Chapter Two: Taste Of Your Own Medicine**

"I don't understand it," Aunt Petunia wailed.

"What is it, dear?" Uncle Vernon asked, gently guiding her onto the sofa.

"All the neighbours—the way they look at me! As if I'm some sort of—of—" Apparently she couldn't think of an appropriate word. Harry could think of a few, but chose to keep them to himself.

"That can't be," Vernon said in what was probably supposed to be a sympathetic tone. "Why would anyone dislike you, Petunia?"

Harry remained silent as he finished his grapefruit, keeping his head down. Petunia had been attempting to bond with the neighbours, but while they had all been perfectly civil as far as Harry could tell, she was becoming frustrated by their refusal to make her feel part of the community. Apparently spying on people wasn't half as interesting when you hadn't got to know them first.

Harry, on the other hand, was getting to know everyone on the street. They had been in Arrow Close a week, and so far his excursions around the neighbourhood had gone unnoticed. Jane had him over daily, and he was receiving invitations from several others to visit—two other elderly residents, Alison and Dave in Number Five; and the Sinclairs in Number Six, a couple with young children who had taken a liking to him. Others also made a point of saying hello when they passed. The Dursleys didn't pay much attention to where he was as long as he wasn't under their feet, and he was hoping it would remain that way and they would never know he was the reason they were being shunned by the community at large. He was pleased they were finally getting to know what it felt like, but not keen on what they'd do if they discovered he was to blame.

The only house he hadn't approached was Number Ten opposite them. He hadn't caught any more glimpses of the occupant, and was content for it to remain that way. He had had his fill of unfriendly people.

Jane and the others plied him with cakes and biscuits every time he went over. Everyone had taken to trying to feed him up, and that combined with all the snacks sent over from his friends meant Harry now had too _much_ food in his possession, rather than too little, and he was not one to let food to go waste. He was eating more than his fill of cakes, pasties, pies and biscuits; his jeans were actually feeling tighter, and he reflected ironically that it might be the first time he could ever remember _gaining_ weight at the Dursleys'. He hoped they didn't notice, because it would be tough to explain.

"It's not just you, Mum," Dudley said, his attention for once not solely on how little he had to eat. "All the kids run away when they see me coming!"

"Oh, how ridiculous! Why would they run away from my sweet Diddydums?"

Harry thought for a moment his grapefruit was going to make a reappearance. He fought the feeling and kept very quiet.

"It's not fair!" Dudley continued. "I haven't been able to make a single friend!"

His tone sounded like he was working himself up to a real wobbly. Harry ditched his grapefruit skin and scarpered to his room, where he closed the door and ate his real breakfast—a slice of Mrs Weasley's fruit cake and several of Mike Sinclair's sponge fingers. He opened his window wide to let in a breeze and pulled out his homework. Dudley had gone out in a huff while he was eating, so it made sense to make a start while the house was fairly quiet.

After a couple of hours, he realised he could smell something sweet coming from the kitchen, and ventured downstairs in curiosity.

The oven was filled with lumpy things he couldn't quite work out.

"What are those?"

Petunia pursed her lips. "Scones; and no, you don't get any. They're for the neighbours."

Harry thought if she was trying to buy her way into the community, it wasn't going to work. For one thing, Mike made fantastic scones, which he knew first hand. He was also certain that none of them were going to want to accept anything from any of the Dursleys.

He didn't bother telling her this, just returned upstairs to finish his homework.

After a while, Petunia called him back down. Harry entered the kitchen to find the scones had been cooked, cooled and packed into a Tupperware box. Dudley had returned, and it was taking all her efforts to keep him away from them.

"Can't I have just _one?_ " he moaned.

Petunia tried to placate Dudley, but it didn't work and he made a lunge for the scones. Harry grabbed the box and darted out of his reach.

"Diddykins, no!" Petunia cried. "You—boy—go and take them to the neighbours, tell them they're from me. Don't you miss a single house! And if one crumb passes your lips, there will be hell to pay later. Get them out of here. Now, Dudley, please …"

Harry left the house and his cousin beginning a tantrum, and started making his way down the street.

"Hi," he said to each resident, and they all greeted him warmly. "My aunt's sent me to offer you some scones." He received tuts and mutterings about bribery. "Please take one, though," Harry said, "or she'll think I didn't try hard enough."

"Well, in that case …"

He worked his way down the street and then up the other side, finally stopping outside Number Ten, hesitating. He could feel Petunia's eyes on him out of the window, so braved the garden path and rang the doorbell.

The door was flung open, and an angry face loomed towards him. Harry gasped and involuntarily stumbled backwards, dropping the box.

The glare turned into shock.

" _Potter?_ "

"Professor Snape!" Harry thought for a moment he was having a heart attack. "Wh-what are you doing here?"

"What am I _doing_ here? I _live_ here! What on earth are _you_ doing here? You'd better have a good explanation—"

"I-I just moved in," Harry stammered, hastening to pick up the scones.

" _What?_ "

"Me and my relatives … we … live over the road now," Harry managed to stammer out. Snape's eyes flashed.

"Do you mean I have to put up with _you_ living right opposite me _all summer long?_ Sweet Merlin!"

"I'm sorry sir!" Harry didn't think he had done anything wrong, but with Snape, apologising was always the safer bet. "I-I won't disturb you, I promise; I only came because my aunt wanted me to take these to all the neighbours—"

"Well then, you can clear off and not bother me again."

Harry fled as Snape slammed the door closed again, hurrying back to Number Nine.

"What went wrong?" Petunia said sharply. "What did you do?"

"N-nothing! He just didn't want to be disturbed," Harry said quickly.

To his relief, she bought it, and took the box back from him. "Fine. Go to your room or something."

"Yes Aunt Petunia."

* * *

Severus couldn't believe his rotten luck. This house was supposed to be his retreat, his haven away from irritating students. _How_ had he ended up with the _world's worst_ irritating student living right over the road?

Potter had looked terrified upon seeing him. Hopefully that meant the boy _wouldn't_ disturb him, and he could get on with his summer as normal. But the brat attracted trouble like flies to a honey pot.

Severus grabbed a handful of Floo powder and cast it into his fireplace, calling, "Albus Dumbledore!"

In a whirl of ash, Albus appeared, looking slightly frazzled. "Afternoon, Severus."

"Lost something, Albus?" Severus said drily.

Albus blinked. "Yes, actually—Harry Potter's family seem to have up and moved without telling anyone where they were going. I've been trying to trace them … How did you know?"

"Congratulations, you found them." Severus jabbed his finger out of the living room window. "They live at Number Nine now."

Relief crossed Albus' face, followed by amusement, and Severus scowled further. "It's not funny, Albus. I did _not_ ask to have Potter living in my road. Get rid of them."

"Excuse me? And how do you expect me to _get rid of_ them?" Albus asked pleasantly.

"Don't give me that; you're Albus Dumbledore. I'm sure if you put your mind to it there are any number of ways you could send them back where they came from. Didn't they agree anyway to raise the boy under _that_ roof so he was protected, hmm? He's not protected now!" If any argument would make Albus agree, it was this one. "He's a sitting duck! They broke their agreement, so you have every right—"

"The wards can be cast perfectly fine here; I'll do them tonight," Albus said. "I'm sure the family had their reasons for moving here, I will not force them to move back just so you can avoid seeing Harry during the holiday."

Severus ground his teeth. "Then in future you'll find me in St Mungo's Closed Ward, because if I have to put up with that brat _all year round_ I will lose my sanity. That will be on your head."

"I will take the risk." Albus looked like he was struggling not to laugh. "I'm sure you'll be fine, Severus. Perhaps you could take this opportunity to get to know Harry a little better?"

"Maybe _you_ belong in St Mungo's, because that is never going to happen."

"Suit yourself. I'm sure Harry won't be bothering you now he knows you're here. I'll leave you to it. Have a good summer, Severus."

"Hmph!"

 **TBC …**


	3. Changing Tactics

**Chapter Three: Changing Tactics**

Maybe living near Snape wouldn't be as bad as it sounded. Snape seemed to keep himself to himself as far as Harry could see.

The next time Harry saw Snape was two days after the scones incident. Harry had woken up early and was watching the sunrise out of his bedroom window when he saw Snape leave the house. He looked odd, dressed not in robes or even in black, but in a grey sweatshirt and dark green shorts. As if sensing Harry's eyes on him, Snape suddenly looked up with a scowl.

It was pointless to pretend he hadn't been watching, so Harry gave a small wave and gestured at the sunrise. Snape scowled further, turned his back on Harry and began jogging along the pavement towards the main road.

Harry settled back on the window-sill, returning his attention to the sunrise, and munched his breakfast of two pumpkin pasties and a chocolate chip muffin.

When he came down for the Dursley breakfast later, Petunia was planning her latest attempt to get into the neighbours' good books.

"The scones weren't good enough. Most of them took them but never even said thank you; that's so rude."

 _Pot, meet kettle_ , Harry thought.

"I don't know what else to try … any ideas, Vernon?"

Uncle Vernon put down his newspaper, thinking. "What about the boy?"

"You think he sabotaged it?" Petunia whirled on Harry, eyes flashing, and Harry tried to quell his panic.

"I did exactly as you asked!" he said quickly. "I swear!"

"No, that's not what I meant," Vernon said, to Harry's relief. Petunia turned back to her husband. "We're still in debt and I don't have a job yet, and the boy costs money to have around. He should pull his weight. There must be people around here who need things doing; get the boy to do it. He can raise our standing in this place and make us some money at the same time."

Harry dropped his spoon, unable to believe his ears. They were going to make him _work?_ He was used to doing chores for the Dursleys—but for the whole street?

"What a good idea!" Petunia turned to Harry. "You can start today. Number Six's car is filthy; go and offer to wash it for … hmm … what shall we say, Vernon?"

They debated price for a while. Once it was decided, Vernon went back to his paper.

* * *

An hour later, Harry rang on the doorbell of Number Six.

"Hello, Harry!" Bea Sinclair greeted him cheerfully. Harry heard two squeals of delight and her daughters, Kelly and Abby, came running down the hall.

"Harry, Harry!"

"Hiya, you two," Harry said with a grin.

"Can we play hide and seek again? Please, please?"

"I'm sorry, not right now." Harry turned back to Bea. "My aunt's sent me out again …"

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Now they want me to offer to do odd jobs. Um, for payment, that is. D'you need someone to wash the car?

"Oh … well, actually Mike was going to do it with the girls this afternoon. They love washing the car."

"Oh."

"But … I suppose you could do it now, if that will keep your aunt happy. How much are they asking?"

"A tenner."

"Well, I'm sure we can manage that. The girls will probably still want to help—"

"Yes, please!" Kelly said behind her.

"I don't see why not," Harry said with a grin. "As long as my aunt gets the money."

"Well, that's settled. Come in while I find the sponges."

Washing the car was actually pretty enjoyable, especially with the girls helping. Harry lifted them up one after the other so they could reach the top, and they had a water fight after he accidentally sprayed Abby with the hose. Finally, dripping wet and soapy, he proclaimed the car sparkling clean, and Bea invited him in to let his clothes dry and have a cuppa. And some of Mike's scones, running with butter and with a huge dollop of jam. Harry couldn't refuse.

Once he was dried out and full of cake, Bea pressed fifteen pounds into his hands.

"Um, Bea," he said, "you've given me too much—"

"Aren't you honest? I know. You keep the extra, it's only fair—you're the one who did the work after all."

Harry grinned a slipped the extra into his back pocket. "Thanks."

* * *

The next few days passed quite pleasantly, considering. Harry washed two more cars, cut three lawns, helped put up a set of shelves, spring cleaned a garage and babysat the Sinclair children for a few hours. The Dursleys were getting the money they expected, but Harry pocketed the extra change everyone wanted to give him. He was well fed and hydrated while he worked, though was careful not to eat or drink outside except water just in case one of his relatives saw.

Of course, Petunia, whilst glad that they were getting some extra cash, was puzzled how the neighbours _still_ didn't like them. Harry knew they all thought even less of them for effectively pimping him out, but Petunia didn't seem to grasp that.

Two weeks after having moved in, Petunia decided there was nothing else for it.

"I will not take no for an answer," she announced at lunchtime. It was only Harry listening, since Dudley was moping over his lack of food and Uncle Vernon was at a job interview. "I will go around the neighbourhood _myself_ and I _will_ get them to talk to me." She gave Harry a glare. He figured she thought maybe the neighbours didn't like her because he hadn't given them a good impression. Thankfully the thought didn't seem to have occurred that he had deliberately given them a bad one of them—if she had, he would not be breathing.

Harry stayed silent, and Petunia left the house. He finished his celery sticks in silence and returned to his room, where he watched his aunt from his bedroom window.

She didn't seem to be making any progress, having spent several minutes trying to win over each neighbour in turn, and ending up with a door in the face. She looked more and more frustrated. She was now on Number Eight, and when that fell through, Harry knew she would be moving onto Snape's house.

He almost felt sorry for her.

Almost.

As she approached Snape's door, Harry opened his window wider so he could hear clearly, then positioned himself behind the curtains so neither of them would be able to see he was eavesdropping.

She rang the doorbell, and Harry held his breath for a moment of silence. The door opened.

" _What?_ " Snape snapped.

If Petunia was taken aback by the greeting, it didn't show in her voice. "Hello there, I'm Petunia Dursley," she said pleasantly. "I just moved in—"

"Go away." The door slammed again. There was a moment of stunned silence.

"Er, hello?" Harry peeked to see that Aunt Petunia was speaking through the letter-box. "I just wondered if—"

The door opened again suddenly, and she nearly fell forwards. "Didn't your nephew tell you that I don't like to be disturbed?" Snape snarled.

"Er …" Aunt Petunia's voice faltered. "He might have mentioned it …"

"You would do better to remember it. Bother me again and I promise you you will regret it. Now get off my property."

Petunia did the sensible thing. She scurried away.

 **TBC …**


	4. Turning the Tables

**Chapter Four: Turning the Tables**

The nerve!

Severus was still seething twenty minutes after Potter's aunt had left. He had absolutely _no_ doubt in his mind that Potter had sent her over, just to irritate him. He had been waiting for some incident to occur since learning Potter was living over the road, and he was honestly surprised it had taken _this_ long for Potter to succumb to the temptation of making his summer hell.

He almost reached for the Floo powder to further plead his case to Albus, but reasoned with himself that it would look rather petty. It was only a few scones, after all. In fact they had looked rather good, and he was starting to regret not having taken one.

Still. Something needed to be done about that boy. What could he do? It wasn't as if he didn't have any ideas, but they were unfortunately all illegal ...

* * *

"Oh, don't forget these, love!"

Harry almost dropped his latest wage as Jane pressed a batch of flapjacks into his arms. They were still warm from the oven, making the sandwich bag they were in condensate.

"Oh … thanks."

He exited the house, trying to get the bag in his pocket without crushing them into mush, and ran into someone.

"Oops, sorry!" he said, then realised who he had bumped into, and his heart went cold. "A-Aunt Petunia?"

She didn't answer, her eyes fixed on the bag of cake. "What," she said in a dangerous voice, "is _that?_ "

* * *

"Turn out your pockets!"

Severus heard the shout from his front garden, and glanced upwards. Upon seeing Potter and his aunt in front of Number Eight, his interest piqued.

Petunia Dursley's voice rang around the street, and other neighbours were peering unabashedly out of windows and doors to see what was going on. Petunia was clutching a bag of something and looked absolutely furious.

"Turn out your pockets!" she shouted again. Potter, seeming very reluctantly, turned them out. Petunia's eyes bulged as he revealed another bag and a handful of Muggle money.

"Where did you get all this?" she shrieked.

Potter was frozen like a deer caught in headlights, but the Halliwell woman spoke up, folding her arms.

"I gave it to him."

"I beg your pardon? _You_ gave him all this?"

Mr Digg spoke up. "We all did. You can't force a child to work for nothing." Potter looked alarmed at his words, and started making 'shut up' gestures, but Digg didn't get the message. "Nor can you expect someone Harry's build to live on salad alone, especially not doing physical activity; you're starving him."

Petunia's eyes flashed. "I see." She fixed them on Potter, who gulped. "So that's what he's been telling you all?" No-one spoke. Her tone went from angry to desperate. "Oh Harry, I thought we'd finally moved past that."

He stared at her. "What?"

"Inside. _Now_ ," she said firmly.

Potter slowly headed indoors. Petunia waited until the door had closed behind him before speaking again.

"I'm so sorry, everyone," she said, turning to address them all. "He's a very troubled boy; he's done this kind of thing before, made people feel sorry for him to con them out of things. He spends most of the year at St Brutus', but in the summer … Well, we do everything we can, but …"

The neighbours were hesitating, looking conflicted, but Snape had no problem believing this story. It sounded just like something a Potter would do.

"You expect us to believe that?" Mrs Sinclair said with narrowed eyes. "Harry told us that where you last lived, you were the one to turn the community against him."

"Well of course he would say that! He's got everyone wrapped around his little finger!" Petunia cried. Severus didn't often feel sorry for people, but Petunia looked at her wit's end. His previous assumption that Potter's relatives had pampered him useless were somewhat shaken. Obviously the Potter genes accounted for even more than he believed. Now he pitied the poor Muggles who were trying to shape the boy into a decent human being.

Perhaps he should help her out. He didn't normally do people favours, but he could empathise with trying to keep Potter in line.

Severus cleared his throat loudly. "Not everyone, he hasn't."

Everyone looked over at him in shock. It was such a rarity when he spoke to anyone in his street, he had them all speechless. He continued.

"I am a teacher at ... Potter's school. I know the boy pretty well. He's never yet met a rule he didn't love to break. Sad to say, even there he has people who have fallen for his … _charms_ … but he's an arrogant, reckless, manipulative rule breaker who needs firm handling." He nodded at Petunia, who looked as stunned at any of them. "I think you do the best you can in the circumstances, Mrs Dursley."

"Th-thank you," she stammered.

"I didn't know you worked at St Brutus', Mr Snape," Mrs Halliwell said curiously to Severus. He scowled, and chose his moment to retreat inside to the relative peace and quiet of his own home.

* * *

Harry listened to everything through the letter box, his heart heavy. He had almost stopped breathing when Snape had begun to speak, and now Harry thought that everyone had bought his aunt's story. She was good, he had to admit.

Why, _why_ had Snape had to speak up? Why had he had to be there in the first place?

And now he was in _big_ trouble.

When he heard his aunt coming, he hurried up to his room and sat down on his bed, waiting.

She and Vernon burst into his room, fixing him with glares worthy of Snape.

"So." Vernon's voice was low and dangerous. He moved around the bed and closed the window before continuing, obviously not wanting the curious neighbours to hear him laying into him. "You've been telling tales behind our backs, have you? _You're_ the reason we've been shunned since the moment we arrived?"

Harry remained silent, sure that if he spoke he would only make them angrier, though he desperately wanted to tell them it was no more than they deserved.

"He is," Petunia confirmed.

"You ungrateful brat! Here's your aunt and I, working to the bone to make a new home here for all of us, and you have to nerve to sabotage our efforts, turning the community against us, out of spite!"

Harry couldn't remain silent anymore. "Isn't that what you did to _me_ back in Privet Drive?"

Vernon hissed in anger and grabbed Harry's shoulders, shaking him hard.

"You want to be poor starving little orphan boy, do you? Well your wish is granted. You will not leave this room until the end of the holiday. You will have _one_ meal a day and you're only getting that because I have no desire to explain to your freak school why you starved to death. We will be monitoring all your communications to those freaky friends of yours so don't think about complaining to any of them how we're treating you."

Harry's heart sank. There went his threat of telling Sirius anything.

Vernon's eyes narrowed. "Petunia, search the room."

 _Oh Merlin. The food._

Harry was forced to sit still with Vernon's beefy hand on his shoulder while Petunia pulled his room apart. It didn't take her long to uncover his stash of food.

"Oho!" Vernon's grip increased further, and Harry winced. "What have we here?"

"You horrible boy!" Petunia said, brandishing the remains of the fruitcake in his face. "When poor little Dudley's forced to survive on rabbit food, here you are stuffing your face—"

" _Poor little_ Dudley?" Harry echoed in disbelief.

Vernon shook Harry again. "Watch your tongue, boy. All this— _stuff_ —is being thrown out."

"Vernon …" Petunia said slowly. "Look at this."

Harry's heart plummeted further as she picked up his money bag. He hadn't even thought about hiding that. He still had quite a large sum inside, about twenty Galleons. Petunia tipped it out onto the bed, and she and Vernon gasped.

"Gold!"

"Who gave you this?" Vernon growled, shaking Harry again.

"No-one!"

"Vernon," Petunia said, turning one coin over in her hand. "I've seen coins like this before. It's what freaks use instead of _normal_ money."

"So, you've been holding back on us, eh, boy? What else have you got stashed away?"

"Nothing!" Harry stammered. He couldn't let them find out about his Gringotts vault; somehow they'd find a way to claim it for themselves. "It's just to buy school books and stuff with. It's not worth much!"

"Still … those are _real gold_. Must be able to get something for them."

"No—please—"

Petunia scooped the coins back into the bag, and Vernon took it and pocketed it. "Consider this your payment for the trouble you've given us, boy," he growled. "Now stay. Considering you've been pigging out on cakes for the last two weeks, I think you could go a few days without anything. Come on, Petunia." They withdrew, locking the door behind them.

Harry collapsed on the bed, dejected. Now he was in trouble. No food, no friends, no freedom, no money and no way of getting help.

He sighed, and then spied the window and sat bolt upright.

The door was locked. But the window wasn't—Vernon had only closed it. Harry wasn't even sure if they _had_ a key to lock it.

He checked for anyone watching, and opened it up as quietly as he could. It was a tiny window; quite a narrow gap. Underneath the window was the porch roof, which was flat, and a drainpipe ran down to the ground.

Could he possibly escape?

Harry debated for a few minutes, but he felt he had to _try_ and get someone to believe him. He pulled the window up as far as it would go and started wriggling out.

It was a tight fit. He was starting to regret eating all that cake. For a moment he thought he was stuck and the Dursleys would find him wedged in the window, unable to get in or out. But after a minute he managed to tug himself free and tumbled haphazardly onto the porch roof. He waited frozen for a moment, wondering if someone heard him, but no-one came running to see, so he shinnied down the drainpipe and headed towards Number Eight.

 **TBC …**


	5. Common Ground

**Chapter Five: Common Ground**

Jane wouldn't answer her doorbell.

Harry knew this was not a good sign. She had told him herself that she didn't leave the house during the week. He saw one of the curtains twitch out of the corner of his eye upstairs, but whoever it was stepped back as he looked up.

So maybe she did believe the Dursleys' story.

Disheartened, Harry turned. Mr Digg had been in his front garden, but upon seeing Harry, he abandoned his trowel and went inside. Harry turned to look at the Sinclairs' place, and saw Kelly and Abby waving at him, but before he could wave back, Bea hurried them inside and locked the door.

Harry choked up. All he'd wanted was somewhere he could be liked and treated like a human being. Now in an instant, it had all gone to pieces.

A hand suddenly clamped on his shoulder as he was blinking away tears, and he jumped.

"So," Snape's voice said in his ear. "Looking for more innocent people to fleece, Potter?"

"N-no," Harry stammered.

"It must be _so_ disappointing that everyone knows your tricks now," Snape purred. Harry clenched his teeth. Snape's grip was as firm as Vernon's. Harry had a feeling he would have some nice bruises tomorrow. "I can't imagine your relatives are happy to let you wander freely after that little stunt earlier, do you?" He didn't wait for an answer, already steering Harry firmly back towards Number Nine, and rang on the doorbell.

Petunia opened it. "I believe you may have lost this," Snape said, pushing Harry towards her. Petunia dropped her feather duster.

"How—how did—" she spluttered.

"Magic," Harry muttered.

She clipped him round the ear. "That's enough of that! Thank you," she directed at Snape, who merely nodded politely at her and left. Petunia dragged Harry inside and back up the stairs.

* * *

The next day, Vernon bought a sealant and sealed up Harry's bedroom window.

Harry finished his homework over the next couple of days, though he couldn't be certain how well it was done. After that he whiled away the time lying still on his bed, dressed only in his pants. The sun streamed through his window, even with the thin curtains closed, and there was no longer any ventilation. The Dursleys only allowed him a tiny amount of water so they wouldn't have to keep letting him out to go to the toilet. Harry was sticky with sweat, faint with hunger and dizzy from dehydration.

When Hedwig turned up, Vernon forced Harry to write to Sirius straight away so he couldn't think there was something wrong, and stood over Harry while he wrote it so he couldn't put anything bad about the Dursleys.

It was almost a week before he was allowed any food, and then it was only a small grapefruit quarter per day. He was feeling weaker by the day.

One morning, he woke to find the weather had blissfully turned. The temperature had significantly dropped, the sky was grey with clouds and rain was beating down outside. Although the water only reminded him how thirsty he was, he felt a little better for the change, and managed to lever himself off the bed to put on some clothes, and looked out of the window, using the wall for support.

It was painful, seeing all the houses and remembering the friends he'd lost. He was staring absently out and thinking longingly about the start of term, when he could once again be among people who cared about him, when movement drew his eyes to Number Ten.

Snape was leaving the house, dressed in smart black muggle clothes. He pulled up the hood of his coat, and sprinted towards Number Nine. Harry stared at astonishment as he approached the porch, and the doorbell rang.

What did _he_ want?

He wasn't going to hear from here, and he doubted the Dursleys were going to fill him in later. But the Dursleys kept the kitchen door unlocked during the day unless they were out. If he could get out of the window again …

Harry examined the seal closely, and searched in his trunk for something long and sharp. He settled for the skewer in his potions kit, and used it to scrape away the dried sealant. It took a surprisingly short time—Vernon had been ripped off with that cheap brand, that was for sure.

Harry pushed the window open. The rain didn't bother him, and he wasn't too worried about getting through the gap, not after having discovered how loose his jeans were now. This time he managed to slide through with ease.

He slipped—literally—down the drainpipe and made his way around the side of the house, checking for anyone in the kitchen before letting himself in. Voices came to him from the living room.

"… and two sugars, thank you."

It was Snape's voice. Harry ducked as Petunia approached the hatch and picked up the sugar.

"I'm so glad you accepted my invitation," she said, going back.

"Well, you were very persistent," Snape said drily.

Petunia chuckled. "I wanted to thank you, for helping me out the other day."

"It was nothing."

Harry felt like vomiting. Bad enough Snape backed up his relatives' lies; now they were becoming _friends_. That was the last thing he needed, Snape and the Dursleys becoming chummy and giving each other ideas.

"Not for me it wasn't. It was very good of you to speak up; I understand you don't really … er …"

"Interact," Snape supplied. "I don't. But I have the greatest respect for anyone who can try to handle Harry Potter for a prolonged period of time and still keep their sanity."

"So you really _do_ teach at his school?" Petunia asked, sounding slightly wary.

"Yes, I do. Did you think I would say so unless I did?"

"Well … no, I suppose not. I just don't think my husband would like knowing that there's another—w-wizard—in the area."

"Our little secret. Are those chocolate chip?"

"Yes; do help yourself."

There was a pause while Harry's mouth watered at the thought of food.

"So I take it you have been on better terms with the neighbours since I spoke up?"

"Oh, yes. It's been such a change. They've all been apologetic about getting the wrong idea, and Vernon and I have their respect now."

"Rightly deserved."

Harry gagged.

"So has Potter been behaving himself since I last saw him?"

"Yes. Though that's probably more for lack of opportunities to _mis_ behave. He's grounded. How … er … how _much_ of a problem is he at school, exactly?"

"He's the bane of my existence," Snape said flatly.

"Oh, I know exactly what you mean."

"He never does as he's told, and he's a magnet for trouble. I spend half my life trying to keep him out of it—believe me, it's a full time job. Until now the summer has been my only break from it."

"I'm so sorry he messed up—"

"No, it's not your fault. Besides, Potter seems to have been too busy conning his way into the pockets of the other neighbours to bother me as much as I feared he would."

"Oh. Well, that's … good."

Harry leaned against the kitchen wall, listening as Snape went on to relate some of the troubles Harry had got into at Hogwarts. Things like flying a car into a tree, wandering the grounds at night with both a serial killer and a werewolf on the loose, and nearly being eaten by giant spiders. Petunia in turn told him about Harry's insolence and defiance, and how he had done his best to draw their attention from Darling Dudley his whole life, even so far as 'attacking' him when they were children.

It stung, their discussing him like that—an antisocial wizard and a magic-hating Muggle, bonding over shared loathing of him. Even though he'd long given up on hoping either of them would ever like him, it still really hurt.

* * *

Severus was a proud man, but even he was willing to admit he had been wrong sometimes.

He had already accepted that Potter had not been spoiled rotten, contrary to his original analysis of the boy. His understanding of Petunia Dursley was now changing rapidly, to what he couldn't be sure yet.

When he had spoken up for her, he had taken her to be a well-meaning, strung out Muggle, someone who had dedicated the last thirteen years to raising her sister's son only for him to turn out to be an uncontrollable, reckless brat.

Now he was having second thoughts. Again.

He could understand a certain amount of resentment after all those difficult years. _He_ would certainly feel some if any child he raised turned out like Potter. But the more Petunia talked, the more he began to suspect that there was more to it. After all, resentment or not, he would expect her to still _love_ him. He was her nephew, after all; her family; a child she had raised. But there was no love in her.

So, maybe not so well-meaning after all.

Merlin, she had certainly taken him in. How humiliating. And he called himself a spy! He was beginning to regret speaking up for her, but it was too late to take back his words now.

His thoughts were interrupted by heavy footfalls coming downstairs, and a very large teenager waddled into the room.

"Diddykins, Mummy's with a visitor," Petunia said in a sickly baby voice that made Severus feel like he was about to bring up his tea and biscuits. He quickly covered his nausea.

"Mum, I'm hungry."

 **TBC …**


	6. Grateful to Snape

**Chapter Six: Grateful to Snape**

 _Crap_ , Harry thought. If Dudley came looking for food he was going to have to scarper quick.

"Not now, Diddy, you know what your sheet says."

Dudley stamped his feet. "I want something to eat _now!_ "

Petunia held her ground, though she sounded tearful. "I said _no_ , Dudley. Now go and play somewhere else, please."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief as Dudley stormed back upstairs, making as much noise as possible while he was doing it. When it died down, Harry realised he hadn't been able to hear the resumption of Snape and Petunia's conversation.

"… effective," Petunia was saying in a thoughtful tone.

"Not as effective as you would think, unfortunately. But the students don't like it."

"No, I certainly wouldn't. How disgusting."

"Detentions are supposed to be deterrents, but alas, Potter and his groupies don't have enough brain cells between them to realise that their little escapades are not worth the hours spend in my dungeon. Of course, if we could bring back some of the older forms of punishment …"

"You mean like caning?"

"That is definitely an option. There are many others as well, some rather creative. Sadly the Headmaster is vehemently opposed to all forms of corporal punishment, and he is my boss. It's a shame; I believe a good few whacks would do Potter a lot of good."

"Oh, I don't know, it's never worked before."

There was a slight pause. "It hasn't?"

"No. We did try that, back when he was younger, but he still kept doing freaky—I mean … m-magic things. Nothing would get him to stop, not even a stick to the behind."

Harry winced at the memory of its sting on his bare flesh. He wondered what Snape was thinking—was Snape trying to gauge whether he could get away with caning Harry?

Maybe not—he had said Dumbledore was opposed—but still …

There was a long silence in the living room. "That must have been very hard to live with." For the first time in Harry's hearing, Snape actually sounded sympathetic.

"Oh, it was. Still is. Last summer he blew up my sister-in-law!"

"Yes … I, er, heard about that—"

The conversation was cut off as the kitchen door opened behind Harry, and he overbalanced, looking up into the looming face of Vernon Dursley.

There was no time to dwell on how stuffed he was as his furious uncle grabbed him by the arm and, without letting him get to his feet, dragged him into the living room.

"What the blazes are you doing out of your room?" He spat, unfortunately literally.

"Vernon!" Petunia said sharply. "We have a visitor."

Vernon ignored her and shook Harry so hard he felt like his teeth were rattling inside his head. "Was 'stay in your room and don't come out' too much to grasp? Do you want to go another week without any food?"

"N-no," Harry stammered.

"Then get up those stairs!" Vernon shoved Harry towards the hall door, and unsteady from lack of nutrition, he fell.

As he got to his feet, he saw Dudley coming down to see what the disturbance was. "Aren't you supposed to be in your room, freak?"

"I'm going—oof!"

Dudley had punched him in the stomach, and Harry curled up on the floor, completely winded. It took about eight seconds for him to get his breath back. By the time that had happened, Vernon had pulled him to his feet again and was dragging him up the stairs. Harry glanced back and saw Snape on his feet, one hand in his robes.

 _Probably looking for a camera. Show the wizarding world how pathetic the Boy Who Lived really is._

Harry was dragged into his room and the window resealed.

"Leave your room again," Vernon threatened, "and the cane will be back."

Harry flinched. "I-I won't."

"You'd better not."

Vernon stormed from the room, locking the door behind him again. Harry collapsed into bed, pulled up the covers and buried his head in his pillow.

* * *

"I'm sorry about that," Petunia said, turning back to Severus, who was having a hard time keeping his face neutral.

"That's all right." He slowly released his wand. "I do understand."

His mind was whirling, trying to process this information and decide what he could do about it. A light flicked on.

"It must be incredibly difficult keeping him in line, especially considering …" He hesitated, glancing upwards to where Vernon Dursley was. "Considering you cannot counter his magic," he said in a hushed voice.

Petunia flinched at the word 'magic', but she nodded.

"I might have a solution," he said. " _I_ can keep him in line, if he is right in front of me. I could also do with an extra pair of hands this summer to assist me."

"I thought you needed the summer as a break from him."

Severus cursed himself. "Yes, but I have a few ideas about how I could … neutralise him, so to speak. He cannot bother me much with a silencing charm preventing him speaking and a puppet charm to control his body movements. My boss wouldn't approve of course, but … well, he's not here, is he?"

Petunia looked hopeful. "You would really take him off our hands?"

"During the day, certainly. And I am willing to pay whatever the others were."

"Ten pounds an hour."

"Done." He held out his hand. "If he could start tomorrow morning? I'll pick him up at say, eight?"

Petunia shook his hand, and he tried not to cringe at the contact. "Deal," she said.

* * *

Harry was awoken by someone opening his door and placing a rough hand on his shoulder.

"Wake up," Petunia said sharply. "You've got work to do today."

Harry blinked groggily. "Work? What work?"

"You're now in Severus Snape's employ. He wants you to help him."

Harry tried to sit bolt upright, but fell back as the room span. "Help him? With what?"

"Never mind what, just get your clothes on, he'll be here to get you in five minutes." Petunia pulled his covers off and then left the room.

The room didn't stop spinning for four minutes, so Harry was still getting his clothes on when he heard Snape's voice downstairs.

"Where's the boy?"

"Still upstairs," Petunia replied. "BOY! Get your lazy backside down here!"

"Don't worry, I'll get him."

Harry stumbled out of his room just as Snape was coming up the stairs. He frowned at him. "Come on then, Potter, I don't like to be kept waiting."

He wanted to protest that his aunt had only just woken him up, but had a feeling there wasn't any point. "Yes, I'm coming." He made his way downstairs as quickly as he dared, leaning heavily on the banister. When he caught up with him, Snape gripped his arm firmly. It was a painful grip, and Harry didn't like being touched by anyone but his friends, but he was actually grateful—it kept him standing upright.

"I'll return him this evening," Snape promised, and marched Harry out of the front door.

After yesterday's overheard conversation, Harry had a very bad feeling what was coming. Snape opened his own front door and half-pulled Harry inside before steering him into a kitchen.

On the table was a large jug and glass of iced water, a steaming mug of coffee, and a plate filled with slices of thickly buttered bread. Snape steered Harry to the chair and said, "Sit."

Harry sat, the water and the bread in front of him. As much as he longed to, he didn't dare touch it, but Snape had other ideas.

"Drink up, you look parched."

Harry didn't need telling twice. He seized the glass and took a great gulp. Cold, crisp water hit his dry throat and his head throbbed from the shock. He was halfway down the glass when Snape gently tugged it from his hands, spilling some. "Easy, Potter, you still need to breathe."

"Thank you," Harry gasped, and continued taking slightly more sedate gulps when Snape returned the glass to him. He would never have believed he would ever utter those words to Snape, but he _was_ grateful.

As he refilled the glass, he realised Snape was busy at the stove, placing rashers of bacon into a frying pan. He didn't ask, just continued drinking, making his way through most of the jug. After a while the bacon began to sizzle and a gut-wrenching smell filled Harry's nostrils. Snape stood there turning it in silence and Harry took his cue from there. Eventually Snape turned round, brandishing the pan.

"Do you like rind?"

"Pardon?"

"Rind. Yes or no." Snape held a piece of bacon out over the plate with his tongs.

"Um … yes," Harry said uncertainly.

Snape transferred all the bacon onto one of the slices of bread and replaced the pan. "Do you have any sauces?"

"Um, sir?"

"Yes?"

"Not that I'm complaining, but why are you cooking me bacon sandwiches?"

"Because, Potter, you look as if you will keel over any minute. I cannot have you passing out during the brewing of a potion, it's dangerous. So, sauces?"

"Um, ketchup. Please. Thank you."

 **TBC …**


	7. Beginning Repairs

**Chapter Seven: Beginning Repairs**

Snape handed him a bottle of ketchup from his cupboard, then sat down opposite him and began sipping at his coffee. Harry ketchupped his bacon fast, smashed the bread together and took a huge bite.

Merlin, it was heaven. This was _real_ food. Harry was too busy wolfing down his sandwich, interrupted every now and then by a reminder from Snape not to choke himself, to think about how bizarre this was—having breakfast cooked by Snape in Snape's kitchen.

He finished his food about the same time Snape finished his coffee. "Thank you, sir," he said. He believed that Snape had only fed him because it would be inconvenient if Harry passed out from hunger, but he was grateful all the same.

"No need for that." Snape's tone because more business-like. "I have some potions that need brewing today. You will be assisting me."

"Um … Professor …"

"Yes, Potter?"

"Why exactly do you want _my_ help with potions? Considering how appalling you've always said I am at it …"

"I will be doing most of the work, I just need an assistant to prepare some ingredients, no touching the actual potions required. It's simple but time-consuming. I'm fairly confident that even you cannot mess that task up."

"Thanks."

"Well, if you're ready?"

Harry nodded, and Snape led him to his potions lab. Harry sat on a chair at a table with the ingredients in front of him while Snape worked the other side of the table. The ingredients really were pretty simple to prepare, nothing complicated or difficult. Harry chopped and occasionally crushed or split.

No words were spoken between them apart from occasional instructions from Snape. It was actually quite companionable in a way, though Harry would never have admitted that. He didn't mind work much when he could do it without much of a struggle, in fact he liked feeling useful. He supposed maybe that was what house-elves liked about work … he had never really considered that before. Hmm.

After a few hours, Snape checked his watch and put a stasis spell over the potion he was currently working on. "Lunchtime."

Harry carried on chopping daisy roots, and jumped a mile, nearly chopping off his index finger, as Snape put a hand on his shoulder. It wasn't exactly gentle, but not rough either. "Potter, did you hear me?"

"What?" Harry looked around, for a moment bewildered, before realising that Snape probably wanted him to make lunch for him. "Oh—right, sorry, coming."

They returned to the kitchen and Snape filled another jug of water. Harry hovered, waiting for Snape to tell him what to do.

"Take this into the living room," Snape said, handing it and the glass to him. "Is that too heavy?"

"No, that's fine."

"Good."

Harry followed Snape's instructions, putting them down on the coffee table, and returned to find Snape stabbing two potatoes with a sharp knife.

"Do you prefer cheese or tuna?"

"What?"

"With baked potatoes. I have both."

Harry wasn't used to being asked what he preferred, and it took him a few moments to think about it. "Tuna, please."

Snape reached for a cupboard and pulled out a tin. Harry was still hovering, uncertain what he was supposed to do.

"Go and watch the television."

"Sorry?"

"In the living room. It's the big black box with a screen facing the sofa."

"I know what a television is! Why are you telling me to watch it? I thought I was here to work for you?"

Snape sighed. "Potter, do you really think you can work for twelve hours straight with no rest and no food?"

"Um …"

"I thought not. Go and watch the television, or read a book or something."

"Okay."

Harry returned to the living room, curled up on the sofa and began flicking through channels as he drank another glass of water.

* * *

Once Severus had put the potatoes in the oven, he peered out of the kitchen doorway at Potter. The boy was hunched in a ball, staring at the screen, leaning heavily on a cushion. His eyes were closing.

So, let him take a nap. The potatoes would take a while.

Potter didn't notice Severus watching him, and gradually dropped off. Once Severus was sure he was asleep, he turned off the television and tucked a blanket around the boy's frail form.

Even now, with Potter's emaciated body up close and personal, Severus could barely believe what his eyes told him. One day he would have to say some very choice words to Petunia Dursley, but until other arrangements had been sorted out for Potter, he was going to have to continue playing his part.

He had yet to report his deductions to Albus. That was a task he had reserved for tonight, after Potter had been returned to those wretched Muggles. He was not looking forward to it in the least.

* * *

Harry was woken by a fantastic smell that made his stomach growl despite filling up on bacon sandwiches earlier.

"Lunch, Potter."

He blinked, and sat up. It looked like he'd fallen asleep on Snape's sofa—but the television was off and there was a blanket over him. Confused, he pushed it off him and ventured into the kitchen.

Snape handed him the tuna tin without looking at him. "The opener's in the middle drawer under the kettle. Get the cheese grater as well."

"Okay." Harry retrieved both utensils while Snape was cutting open the potatoes and buttering them.

"Salt? Pepper?"

"Yes please sir."

Snape gestured at Harry to grate the cheese over one of the potatoes, and he did so while Snape seasoned them, opened up the tuna and began mixing in the mayonnaise. He seemed quite liberal with it, as much as with the butter.

Once the food was dished up, Snape gestured at Harry to sit and then opened a carton of pumpkin juice and poured out two glasses.

"Thank you sir."

They ate in complete silence. Harry had a feeling that Snape was making him a substantial meal because he was going to be doing some pretty physical stuff in the afternoon. That would make sense. Surely the Dursleys must have told him he was supposed to be on a diet.

Unless they had forgotten. Well Harry wasn't going to mention it.

Harry was really struggling to eat the second half of his meal, his stomach uncomfortably full. Snape seemed to notice, and put down his cutlery.

"You can finish it later if you're full now."

"Thank you," Harry said in relief, putting down his cutlery as well.

"Back to work, then."

They returned to the potions lab, and resumed the tasks from earlier. Harry felt even better for the food and the rest, and mused ironically that it was a novelty for Snape to make him feel _better_ in any sense.

The potions Snape was working on, and the ingredients he was having Harry prepare, were all done in a couple of hours, at which point Snape suggested he finish his lunch. Harry ate the rest of his potato, wondering what Snape was going to have him do now, and was taken back into the living room.

He hadn't really looked around before, but two of four walls were lined floor to ceiling with bookshelves. In a corner there was a desk with a pile of books and papers on it and around the floor.

Snape explained the shelving system to Harry and engaged him in re-shelving everything. Not doing it alone though, but organising it all on the floor while Snape, being taller, actually put it all back.

Again, they worked in silence. Harry was tired, but not exhausted anymore, and after a few more hours Snape called a halt again and told Harry to watch the television again whilst he put dinner on.

He was getting dinner _as well?_ Harry was completely flummoxed, but had no intention of questioning Snape's bizarre behaviour. If someone wanted to give him food, he wasn't going to complain. He made himself comfortable on the sofa again and started a wizard's chess game against himself, thoroughly confusing the pieces.

Dinner turned out to be bangers and mash. As much as Harry wanted to be able to finish it, he thought he would burst if he ate any more food that day. Snape put the remaining sausage and potato in the fridge for the next day. After the meal, Harry expected to be put to work again, but Snape looked at the clock.

"There's not much point starting any new task."

Since it was only seven o'clock, and Harry knew Snape had agreed with his relatives on returning Harry at eight, he wasn't sure what planet Snape was living on, but didn't bother to correct him. He spent the last hour in front of the television trying not to fall asleep again.

He was apparently unsuccessful, for he was woken by Snape shaking him. "Time to go, Potter."

Harry scrambled off the sofa, stifling a yawn. Snape held out something small. "Take this."

It looked like a piece of gum. "What is it?"

"It will remove all evidence that you have been eating."

Harry followed Snape's instructions, popping it in his mouth and chewing. A cold burst made his mouth feel numb for a moment, and the whatever-it-was disappeared. Sure enough, when Harry smelled his breath, he couldn't detect a thing.

"Thanks, Professor."

"Oh, and not forgetting …"

Snape withdrew a wallet and rifled through the Muggle money it held. "It was ten pounds per hour, wasn't it?"

"Yeah."

He counted out notes, handing Harry two hundred.

"Er … sir …"

"Yes, Potter, I can count." Snape separated eighty from the rest. "Make sure you keep _that_ somewhere your relatives won't find it."

Harry blinked at Snape. After all that about conning, and Snape was doing exactly as the other neighbours had? Was it a test to see if he would take it?

"I-I can't take that, sir," Harry said.

"Don't be ridiculous, I don't expect you to be a house-elf and work for nothing."

"What happened to 'looking for people to fleece'?"

Snape closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Potter, just take the damn money, or you may find I feel less favourable towards you next time."

Harry slowly took the money. "I dunno where I'm gonna hide it though; my aunt and uncle already searched my room. There's nowhere I can hide it they didn't look before; if they look again—"

"Hmm." Snape looked thoughtful. He strode over to one shelf which held several ornaments, including a china jar. He lifted the lid and popped the eighty pounds inside. "There. I will put your money in here and you can collect it at the end of the holiday. In the meantime if you need anything, just help yourself any time you're here. Understand?"

Harry nodded. "Thank you, sir!"

He would regain what the Dursleys had taken from him in no time at all. He couldn't believe Snape was this generous. Or that rich, come to that. His house was in much better shape than theirs, but still it didn't scream "able to afford to pay two hundred pounds a day for odd jobs".

He didn't have much of a chance to think it over. Snape marched him over the road, grasping him by the scruff of the neck, and the Dursleys' front door opened before he had a chance to ring the doorbell.

"He wasn't too much trouble was he?" Petunia asked.

"I didn't give him a chance to be. Same time tomorrow, Potter, and I expect you to be awake this time and not still snoring away when I turn up." Snape nodded politely at Petunia, and Harry stared in bewilderment as he turned and swept back across the road.

 **TBC …**


	8. In a Fix

**Chapter Eight: In a Fix**

Severus made the long journey from Hogsmeade all the way up to the Headmaster's office, cursing the Dursleys, Death Eaters, and Headmasters who didn't pick up the phone. He was not in a good mood by the time he arrived at the gargoyle.

"Now, what ridiculous confectionary had he chosen this time …"

Before Severus could remember what Albus had said at the end of term, the gargoyle sprang to life and jumped aside. Figuring Albus must have sensed him enter through the wards, Severus hurried up the spiral staircase into the Headmaster's office, and then stopped dead.

"Good evening, Severus," Filius said cheerfully. "Can I help you?"

Severus blinked. "What are you doing in here?"

"Albus left me in charge."

"Why, where is he?"

"On holiday in Cyprus."

"Oh. Where's Minerva then?"

"On holiday in Cyprus," Filius replied with a mischievous spark in his eyes.

Severus took a moment to process that, then decided he didn't want to know. "I don't suppose you have the address?"

"Ye-es," Filius said slowly, "but Albus demanded not to be disturbed except in an emergency."

Severus hesitated. _Was_ it an emergency? He could handle the Dursleys the way he was, keeping them happy and Potter healthy at the same time.

On the other hand, he was pretty sure Albus would _want_ to know about anything involving Harry Potter, especially something this serious.

"I understand. The address, Filius."

"Just a sec." Filius rummaged around in Albus' desk and handed Severus a piece of parchment. "If he's annoyed, you didn't get it from me."

"Understood."

There was no-one in the suite when Severus knocked on the door, ignoring the _Do not disturb_ sign hanging off the handle. He cast a furtive look around him before performing _Alohomora_ and poking his head around the door.

"Albus?"

The fancy suite held no sign of life. Severus withdrew his head and considered. He had passed a ballroom on the way to the stairs—perhaps Albus was down there.

He returned downstairs and headed in the direction of music.

There were plenty of couples dancing on the floor. Severus kept to the wall, moving around the room trying to see either of his colleagues. Finally he caught sight of them at the bar, and hurried over.

"Albus?" He had to shout quite loudly to get them to hear him. Both looked over, and jumped.

"Severus!" Albus said, eyebrows disappearing into his hair. "What are you doing here?"

"I need to talk to you!" Severus said loudly. "It's about Potter!"

Minerva groaned, and Albus looked strained. "Look, Severus, whatever it is, I'm sure—"

"I'm not complaining about him!" Severus said, realising the conclusion he leapt to. "His relatives are starving him!"

" _What?_ " Albus leaned closer, putting a hand behind his ear, though from the horrified looks now gracing his and Minerva's faces Severus thought they had heard him well enough.

"They're—starving—him!" he said, slowly and clearly. "We need to talk!"

Albus nodded, and jumped when the woman behind the bar placed two glasses of wine on the counter. He and Minerva both picked one up and followed Severus out of the ballroom.

They returned to the suite for privacy. "Fill me in," Albus said, looking white.

Severus kept it short and simple. "The Dursleys made him go without any food for at least one week, and I don't think they're feeding him properly the rest of the time either. He looks like a skeleton. There are other … issues … too, but right now that's the pressing one."

"Merlin …" Albus rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Is there any chance that it's not deliberate? Could Harry be refusing food for some reason, or …"

"Not a chance. I've been in that house, seen for myself. And besides, think who this information is coming from, Albus."

"That's true. Not much gets past you." Albus seemed to realise he still had a full glass of wine in his hands, and drained it.

Severus winced. "Too much, in this case." Albus raised an eyebrow. "Don't ask. Let's just say his aunt is a very good actress and leave it at that."

"You've been in their house?" Minerva spoke up.

"Yes; Petunia seems to have taken a liking to me." At her face, he added quickly, "Not like that!" He shuddered. "Anyway, I managed to create a pretence for Potter to spend the days with me, where I can ensure he gets proper nourishment. But that can't be a permanent solution."

"No, you're right. It'll have to do for the moment, though; it's going to take some thinking to figure out what to do."

"I was hoping you would have a backup plan," Severus said in a strained voice. "In case of anything going wrong with the current arrangement."

"I have, but it needs a lot of fine-tuning. In the meantime, how well protected is your house?"

"Don't worry about that; I've got the finest locks, anti-Apparition wards and I disconnected the Floo. He'll be fine." Severus paused. "I'm going to need some money, though ..."

* * *

Harry's first thought when he woke the next morning was that the day before had been a bizarre dream, brought on by lack of food or something, and he was still destined to spend the rest of the summer starving in his room. It was too much to hope for otherwise.

But he didn't feel as hungry as he did when he woke up yesterday morning, nor as dehydrated.

Could it be …?

Harry opened his eyes and fumbled for his watch. It read ten to eight. Remembering the threats from yesterday, he scrambled out of bed and pulled on his clothes. Sure enough, at eight o'clock on the dot, the doorbell rang.

* * *

The next few days went much as the first one had. Harry was fed a substantial breakfast, lunch and dinner each day. He had a nap each afternoon and was allowed to watch the television while Snape cooked. The work he did, more ingredient preparation and various light housework or organisational chores, was not too difficult or taxing.

He wondered if Snape knew how much of a difference he had made to Harry's general well-being. By the time the routine had lasted a week, Harry felt more like he did at Hogwarts—much healthier and happier. He barely saw the Dursleys and it didn't matter that he was locked in from eight PM to eight AM every day, because he spent most of that time sleeping. When he did see them, he tried not to show how much better he felt, and they didn't notice any difference.

Snape himself was being relatively easy to be around, much less hostile than his term-time counterpart. Whether this was because he was normally less tense on holiday, or for some other reason, Harry didn't know. Snape still snapped at him if he did something wrong, but he didn't tend to insult him the way he did with every other breath normally, and he was much more considerate about Harry's health than the Dursleys were. Generally they didn't talk, but it wasn't an uncomfortable silence. Harry rather liked it.

Unfortunately, somewhere deep down he knew that his luck meant that it wouldn't be long before things went wrong. And on his fifth day at Snape's, things did.

Harry was on one of his breaks, watching a Western film when Snape came out of the potions lab with a bottle of potion. Sudden gunfire on the television made him start, and the potion fell from his hands, smashing at his feet.

Snape cursed colourfully. "That took three weeks to brew!" he snarled in Harry's direction, acting more like his normal self.

Harry jumped to his feet. "Sorry, sir; I'll clean it up." He ran to the cleaning cupboard and seized a bottle of Mrs Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover.

"Potter, no—!"

Too late. Harry had already began spraying, eager to sort the problem out as quickly as possible, when Snape realised what he was doing. He discovered instantly why Snape had tried to stop him. The second the Mess Remover made contact with the spilled potion, it turned into a black sticky gloopy puddle around Snape's feet. With a sucking sound, they began sinking into it as if it were quicksand, only stopping when he was submerged halfway up his calves, effectively rooting him to the floor.

Snape sent a furious glare in Harry's direction. "Oh, well done, Potter. The prize for Most Idiotic Action goes to _you_."

"I didn't know it would do that!"

"Exactly!" Snape snapped. "You should ALWAYS check the bottle before mixing any magical substance with a potion, Potter! You should know that by now!"

Harry looked down at the bottle of Mess Remover.

 _CAUTION: This cleaner contains Bundimun secretion which reacts badly with salt. NEVER use on salt or potions containing salted ingredients._

So much for 'all purpose'.

"Oops."

 **TBC …**


	9. Don't Panic!

**Reply to Guest:** (the one who left the 'rhetorical question') Some things are impossible to convey within the story itself. Choosing to leave out parts of canon is acceptable within fandom, but should be explained in the author's notes so the readers know where they are and that it was a deliberate choice, not an oversight. I read author's notes, as you also clearly do. My decision to have Snape and Petunia as strangers was a carefully made one and has nothing to do with my writing skill. (I defy you to convey "The author _knows_ they knew each other in the books, but they don't in here" in the text of the narrative only. Short of an omniscient narrator who breaks the fourth wall, which I can't stand and makes for bad writing unless you have it for the entire story.) Fanfiction is about playing with the canon works, doing what you wish to them. Perhaps you would find non-AU fics more your cup of tea.

 **Note about chapter length:** I've had a few comments on how short my chapters are, and I respond to all with, for starters, the chapter length I aim for when writing fanfic is based on years of experience of trying to make chapters too long, resulting in long gaps between updating. I find as both a reader and a writer than shorter chapters more regularly posted are preferable. Secondly, I've written all the chapters already and they're all about the same length, and I have no intention of revisiting where the boundaries are. I'm updating every Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday and Sunday (BST), so it's not like you have to wait for long for the next instalment. Perhaps if you like to read lots at a time, wait until the end of the week and then read all four chapters in one go? (By the way, there are twenty-three chapters in total, if you are wondering.)

* * *

 **Chapter Nine: Don't Panic!**

" _Oops?_ " Snape snarled through gritted teeth. "Is that all you've got to say for yourself?"

"Can't you get out?"

Snape strained to pull each of his legs out of the mess in turn, but it had turned rock solid and he nearly overbalanced. Harry grabbed his arm, and Snape pulled it out of his grip a moment later with a glare.

"I hope you're satisfied, Potter. I _knew_ you'd do something like this. The Bundimun secretion reacted with the salted rat spleens and created the Child Containment Potion."

"The _what?"_

"It was in your summer reading! It keeps a person in one place indefinitely!"

"Don't panic," Harry said.

" _I'm not panicking!_ " Snape shouted.

"Do you have an antidote, or something to—"

"Of course not! What would I need with a _Child_ Containment Potion? Though now you mention it, it would be a fine way to keep _you_ out of trouble. I would have _said_ if I had it and _sent_ you to get it. So no I do not bloody have one!"

"Just 'no' would have been sufficient," Harry muttered under his breath. In his normal voice, he said, "So how do you make one?"

"Absolutely not!" Snape exploded. "I'm not letting anything _you_ concocted within a hundred feet of me!"

"Fine. Tell me where you keep the Floo powder, then."

Snape grimaced. "In the jar on the mantelpiece, but it won't do any good. I disconnected the fireplace when you started spending time here."

"What did you do that for?"

"So no-one could Floo in and grab you, foolish boy!"

"Why would anybody—"

"Never mind that, you're going to have to write to the Headmaster. Open the desk."

Harry did so and took out some parchment and a self-inking quill.

"You write, 'Dear Professor Dumbledore …'"

"I know how to write a letter, sir," Harry said, scribbling _Dear Professor Dumbledore_ at the top of the parchment.

Snape ignored him and continued dictating.

 _Professor Snape is in trouble. Because of my carelessness and ineptitude he has become stuck to the floor and requires assistance from someone competent. Please come or send help as soon as possible. Harry Potter_

"And the address is here." Snape pulled a piece of parchment from his pocket and handed it over.

"He's in Cyprus?" Harry said, momentarily side-tracked, and grinned as he pictured Dumbledore stretched out on a beach in his full wizard's clothes, rubbing suntan lotion into his long crooked nose.

"He was the last time I spoke to him. Then again he might be back now. Try the phone first."

"You have a phone? _Dumbledore_ has a phone?"

Snape directed Harry to the phone and recited a very long phone number. Harry hit the green button and waited.

"No-one's picking up."

Snape sighed. "Then he's probably not back. Did you get all the letter?"

Harry scribbled the last line hastily. "Got it. Where's your owl?"

"Six feet under," Snape muttered. "Has been for three years. Where is yours?"

"Um, probably around Somerset by now. I sent a letter to the Weasleys …"

"Oh, perfect. So I am expected to just _stand_ here waiting for your owl to finish delivering teen gossip and return, _then_ fly all the way to Cyprus?"

"It's not my fault," Harry insisted. "If I'd known you'd get rooted to the floor I'd never have sent her away."

"It's _your_ fault I'm in this mess!" Snape snapped.

"I'm sorry!"

"And that makes _everything_ better, doesn't it Potter?"

Harry wanted to snap back but took a few deep breaths to calm himself down, then spoke again.

"Sir, if Professor Dumbledore is in Cyprus, wouldn't it be better to write to someone else? Someone in _this_ country?"

Snape muttered something inaudible. "Not many people are familiar with where I live, Potter."

"But I could just put the address on—"

"No!" Snape snapped. "I like my privacy, Potter."

Harry stared at him, trying to quell the urge to tell Snape he was being ridiculous. "But Cyprus is such a long way—"

"Yes, Potter, I am aware of that. However I have my reasons for preferring anyone but the Headmaster and Professor McGonagall knowing where I live."

"Well why not write to her?"

"It will still take just as long to get to her."

"Why?"

"She is ... abroad ... as well."

"Oh."

Harry hesitated, trying to think of something else, but Snape suddenly inhaled. "Something's burning. Potter! Get the food out of the oven!"

He hurried into the kitchen and retrieved the somewhat crispy lasagne, then turned the oven off.

"I think it's still edible. Just a bit black around the edges, but the middle looks fine."

"Good," Snape said in relief. "You're going to have to dish it up, and ..." he faltered, and scowled. "And find a way for me to eat it standing up."

Harry had to cut Snape's potion up into bite-size pieces and then give it to him in a bowl with a spoon. "There. Only one pair of hands needed."

Snape grumbled, but took the food and began eating. Harry sat down and ate his at the table as usual.

The meal was silent, but it was a much more awkward silence than normal. Harry found he was bolting his food so he could end it. After he had finished, he took a still-grumbling Snape's crockery and washed up.

"Do you need anything else?" he asked, re-entering the room afterwards.

Snape had summoned a book and was reading it where he stood. He scowled at Harry over the top of it.

"No, thank you Potter. You've done quite enough. Just try and keep yourself out of trouble until eight o'clock."

Harry sighed and flopped down on the sofa, wondering what to do with himself. His eye was drawn to the black substance keeping Snape rooted to the spot, and stared at it for a few minutes. He couldn't believe it was supposed to be for keeping children in line.

"Who in their right mind would use this stuff on their kids?" he muttered.

He hadn't expected Snape to answer, and jumped when the man spoke without looking up from his book. "The wizard who invented it did. He discovered it much the same way as you did, and accidentally glued his children to the floor. They were apparently quite unruly brats and he decided not to bother trying to free them. But what he didn't know was that the potion is toxic, so after several months they all died."

Harry blanched. "That's horrible."

"If you think that's horrible, consider that it was over a year after their deaths that anyone found a way to unstick the bodies from the floor."

Harry shuddered, trying not to visualise.

"Anyway the potion is called that because that was its first use, not because that is why people brew it today. It's a controlled substance now, only used for specific types of seals. It was all in your summer reading," Snape said pointedly, then fell silent again.

Harry sighed and retrieved a copy of his fourth-year potions book from Snape's shelves. He _had_ done the reading, but since he had been starving and drying up at the time it obviously hadn't gone in very well. He opened it up and began reading again.

It was almost eight o'clock before either of them spoke again. Harry put down his book when he saw the minute hand getting close to the hour, and then realised something.

"Professor, how are you going to sleep tonight?"

Snape actually looked worried for a moment. "I don't know," he admitted. "If I managed to fall asleep I would probably fall backwards and could break my legs. I suppose I could drink a lot of coffee ..."

"You mean stay awake until Hedwig manages to return and take the letter to Cyprus?" Harry said.

"Point taken. That might not be a very good idea. But do you have a better one?"

Harry thought hard, and looked up. "What about some kind of harness? I'm sure you could rig something to hang from the ceiling and keep you upright if you passed out. I guess it wouldn't be the most comfortable thing, but it would be safer than trying to stay awake for days on end."

"Or," Snape said drily, "you could just fetch me a chair."

Harry went red. "Oh. Yeah. that would be better."

Snape rolled his eyes. "That one, Potter." He pointed to one of the sofa chairs in the room. Harry grunted as he pushed the heavy chair until it was right behind Snape, but there was a problem. Snape's legs were sunk several inches into the ground.

"It's too high," Harry said.

Snape twisted around, and pointed his wand at the seat. It sank lower until it was just the right height, and Snape fell heavily backwards into it.

"Ah. Much better than standing," he said in relief.

"Do you want me to get you anything before I go? A pillow and stuff?" Harry asked.

"No matter Potter, I can do it." Snape raised his wand again. " _Accio_ bedclothes!"

Harry had to duck as a green quilt and pillow came flying at him through the doorway. Snape caught them and put them down before summoning his toothbrush and a book.

"Okay then, sir. Goodnight."

"Night, Potter." Snape hesitated, as if he really didn't want to say this. "You'll have to take the spare keys with you. They're on the hook in the hall cupboard."

"Got them."

Harry let himself out and returned over the road. The Dursleys were engrossed in a film, and didn't take much notice of the fact that Snape hadn't walked him over this time.

He hoped Snape would be all right sleeping like that. It wouldn't have been his choice, and that poisonous black potion looked painful.

 _He'll be fine_ , Harry told himself. _He'll probably just be a little grumpier tomorrow, that's all ..._

 **TBC ...**


	10. Waiting On

**Chapter Ten: Waiting On**

Harry returned to Number Ten the next morning at eight o'clock to find Snape where he left him, doing the _Daily Prophet_ crossword.

"Ah, Potter. Good." Snape put down his book. "How are your cooking skills?"

"Not bad," Harry said.

"Oh really?" Snape sounded sceptical.

"Well, my relatives don't complain about the quality, mostly. Just how fast I could get it to the table."

There was a pause. "You cook for them?"

"I used to, before I went to Hogwarts. I know how to do it. Why, what did you want?"

"Oh, I already Summoned some fruit," Snape said. "But you'll need plenty of energy today. There's eggs in the fridge."

"Okay, thanks."

"And Potter."

"Yes?"

"I could do with a coffee. Black no sugar."

"Yeah, sure."

Harry busied himself with the coffee, and poured out two mugs. Leaving one on the bench, he took the other one into the living room.

"How did you sleep? he asked politely, holding out the coffee.

"Not brilliantly." Snape rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. "But better than nothing." He reached for his mug. "Thank you."

Harry returned to the kitchen, added milk and sugar to his own coffee, took a sip and then started frying eggs. There was silence from the living room and he engrossed himself in the task. When something tapped on the kitchen window, he started and nearly burned himself. "Hedwig!"

He opened the window and let her in. She gave him a nip on the finger in greeting.

"Hi, girl. Sorry but I have to ask you to leave again." She hooted indignantly. "I know, I'm sorry, but it's an emergency. Here, this is the letter, it's for Dumbledore." Harry withdrew the letter from his pocket. "He's in Cyprus."

Hedwig gave him a strange look, and hooted again.

"Don't give me that look. Snape's stuck to the floor and I can't get him unstuck myself."

She hooted again, this time sounding more like a laugh.

"Who are you talking to in there, Potter?"

"My owl!" Harry called back. "Now Hedwig, please."

She ruffled her feathers and allowed him to tie the letter to her leg before she flew out of the window, and he hurried to rescue the eggs.

"Have you sent the letter?" Snape asked the moment Harry was in his range of vision.

"Yes, I have sir."

"Good."

Once Harry had finished his breakfast, he washed up and then dared approach Snape again, who was doing the crossword again.

"So ... what am I doing today?"

Snape lowered the _Daily Prophet_. "You can begin by fetching me a table and my work. Since I cannot make it into the potions lab I might as well work on my lesson plans for next term. The file is in my desk drawer, the first on the right."

Harry followed Snape's instructions and Snape began working after presenting Harry with a list of things to do. The first on the list was the laundry.

He fetched the laundry basket and began sorting the contents, trying to do it with the minimum amount of touching Snape's dirty clothes. This was _not_ a job he had ever wished for, in fact he'd have preferred to do one of Snape's typical gross/exhausting detentions, but since Snape was unable to do it himself he didn't complain.

The sorting was actually pretty easy, since everything was either black, grey or green. Harry tried hard not to see past the colours to what each item was, and bundled the grey pile into the washing machine. Next he washed his hands thoroughly, checked the time and then put the kettle on.

Snape looked surprised when Harry came into the living-room with a cup of tea, but Harry had been spending enough time with Snape to know he liked his routine—at least where tea and coffee were concerned.

"I didn't have to ask," he said in astonishment. "I was about to call you."

"I know." Harry placed the tea on a free corner of Snape's table. "It's milk and two sugars, just like normal."

For a fleeting moment Snape looked impressed, but the expression was quickly replaced with a neutral expression. "That's correct, Potter. Thank you," he said stiffly.

"You're welcome." Harry pulled out the to-do list again.

 _2\. Clean the kitchen_

That was something he had no problem with. Snape kept his kitchen practically pristine, so it would be one of the easiest chores ever. Harry sprayed and wiped down all the surfaces, dusted the tops of the cupboards, cleaned inside the oven and inside the fridge and freezer. It had began as almost spotless, so the entire task took him about half an hour.

When he had finished, the laundry was almost done, so he waited and then unloaded it, put in the black wash and hung the wet stuff out on Snape's washing line.

"Why don't you just use a drying spell?" he asked as he came back inside curiously. "For that matter why even use a washing machine? Why not cleaning spells?" Snape scowled at being interrupted.

"Cleaning spells have their place, as do drying spells, but in my view washing with soap and water and drying naturally have better results. It is also better for the clothes; non-magical materials that are subject to a lot of magic have a habit of wearing out faster."

Harry accepted this and checked the list again.

 _3\. Tidy away equipment and ingredients from yesterday_

That was a much bigger job. When Snape brewed, he tended to have a _lot_ of things out to hand, and he was very picky about how they were put away. There was also going to be the matter of cleaning everything up, which would be much harder now it had been sitting down there dirty overnight.

Harry checked the time. Half past eleven. Perhaps he should do food for them both first and crack on with it afterwards.

"What was the food plan for today?" he called to Snape as he looked in the fridge.

"Ham sandwiches for lunch, chicken casserole for dinner," Snape called back.

That wasn't too bad then. Harry could see all the required ingredients. But he thought it might be better to prepare the dinner now as well, knowing he would be too tired later.

He made several rounds of sandwiches, buttering the bread as thickly as Snape did and adding his favourite mustard. The ham was good quality, thick slices carved from a joint. Harry added the last of the cherry tomatoes on the side, filled a jug with water and took Snape's in to him.

Snape looked slightly startled. "Lunch already, Potter?"

"I thought it was better to do it now than start on a big job and interrupt it. You don't _have_ to eat it yet if you're not hungry."

Snape made no reply to this, but accepted the food and water. Harry returned to the kitchen, unloaded the next lot of laundry, hung it out and put the last load in. In between bites of sandwich, he began preparing the chicken casserole.

It didn't take long to chop the vegetables and assemble all the ingredients in the dish. Harry put the lid on it and found a space for it in the fridge. Now it was time to get started on the potions lab.

As predicted, it was in a state. It was what Snape called _organised mess_ , but still needed a lot of organising—and elbow grease—to put away.

Harry started with the worst job: cleaning out the cauldron. Remembering to avoid Magical Mess Remover, he checked with Snape and picked out a safe cleaning solution, but it was a relatively weak solution and still required a fair amount of scrubbing.

Once it was spotless and sparkling, Harry turned to the ingredients. He'd come to understand Snape's shelving system, which was based on the magical properties of each ingredient rather than alphabetical, as in the student store cupboard. Armed with Snape's _Encyclopaedia of Potions_ to help him, Harry managed to put everything back in their proper jars and return them to their correct places on the shelves. Snape was bound to find a mistake when he checked his handiwork, but Harry was fairly confident he'd got at least most of it right.

He cleaned the table, each of the instruments, and finally the floor. Once he had finished he was knackered and his limbs were aching.

Thankfully, there was only one last item on Snape's list.

 _4\. Water house plants_

It turned out to not be the simplest task. Snape gave him very specific instructions.

"Only an eighth of a pint of water for the spiky one. Don't water the yellow one, it's in hibernation, just give it a couple of drops of spider venom, in that bottle there. Be careful! The blue one needs special feed added, it's in the cupboard—one fluid once to half a pint of water. No, that's too much! How did you ever pass Herbology, Potter?"

Once Harry had managed to tend to each of Snape's strange plants to his satisfaction, it was nearly six o'clock. He went back into the kitchen and put the casserole in the oven.

"Dinner's in about an hour," he said, coming back into the kitchen.

"Right." Snape surveyed Harry critically. "It's time you had a rest, Potter, you've been on your feet all day."

Harry didn't need telling twice; he settled comfortably on 'his' spot on the sofa and fell asleep almost immediately.

He was woken an hour and ten minutes later by Snape shouting at him that he needed to check on the dinner, and he stumbled into the kitchen. Still half asleep, he opened the oven door and reached in to pick up the pot without thinking.

"OWWW!"

Harry withdrew his burning hands hurriedly and plunged them into the half-full jug of water. The ice cubes had long melted, but it was still cold enough.

"Potter? What's wrong?"

"N-nothing!" Harry called back. He didn't want Snape to know he'd been stupid to reach into a hot oven without oven gloves—he would never hear the end of it.

Now he faced a problem. He couldn't leave the casserole in the oven for twenty minutes while he attended to his burns. He was going to have to brave the pain long enough to get it out and dished up.

Harry took his hands out of the jug, gingerly wiped them dry and put on the oven gloves, wincing as he did so, and retrieved the dinner. Still wearing the gloves as a layer of protection, he spooned half of the food into a dish for Snape and took it in to him.

"That didn't sound like nothing," Snape said as he entered the room.

"I just stubbed my toe," Harry said, limping slightly to sell the lie. "I'm fine."

He ditched the oven gloves and returned his throbbing hands to the jug for twenty minutes, and when the pain had lessened he ate his lukewarm dinner. When he looked in on Snape, he saw the man had finished his food and was engrossed in what looked like a book of number puzzles.

It was about twenty to eight now. Harry collapsed on the sofa, and was just drifting off again when a voice said, "It's time, Potter."

Harry yawned and forced himself upright. "Yeah. Okay. I'm going. Night, Professor."

"Goodnight Potter."

 **TBC ...**


	11. Breakfast on the Beach

**Chapter Eleven: Breakfast on the Beach**

The next morning Harry turned up to find Snape absorbed in the morning's crossword, so much so he barely noticed Harry come in.

"Morning, Professor," Harry said again a little louder.

Snape looked up. "Oh—morning Potter."

"You don't have to ask, I'll get your coffee." Harry went into the kitchen and put the kettle on.

There was silence from the living room while it brewed. When Harry brought it in, he saw Snape was frowning deeply at the puzzle.

"Tricky one, is it?" he asked.

"Hmm." Harry took this to mean 'yes'.

"What's the clue?"

" _Double lights: self contains treasure_. Six letters ending in I."

"Oh, it's one of those cryptic ones. Hermione's good at those. I'm not the most lateral thinker though."

"You don't say," Snape muttered.

The doorbell made them both start. Snape dropped his paper, his eyes widening in alarm.

"Shall I answer?" Harry asked.

"No!" Snape said quickly. "No, stay where you are." He looked worried.

"Professor? What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Just leave it." At Harry's frown, he said reluctantly, "Remember when I told you I have my reasons for keeping my address to myself?"

"Yes ..."

"Well unfortunately there are some people who do know it, whom I would rather didn't."

"Who?"

"Not your concern."

Harry jumped again as he heard a key in the lock, but Snape sighed. "Never mind. If they have a key—"

"Anyone at home?" a familiar voice called.

"Professor Dumbledore!" Harry hurried into the hall. "How did you get here so fast?"

Dumbledore didn't look as if he had been on holiday; he looked the same as he always did. He gave Harry a warm smile. "I Apparated, Harry. Good to see you, by the way. Where is Severus?"

"I'm in here!" Snape yelled from the living room.

Dumbledore barely stifled a laugh when he laid eyes on him, and Snape turned his glare on him. "It's _not funny_ , Albus."

"I'm sorry," Dumbledore said, still seeming to struggle not to chuckle out loud. "That does look like a pickle you're in."

"I meant," Harry said before Snape could bite Dumbledore's head off, "how did Hedwig get to you so fast? I thought you were in Cyprus."

"I was. Until a week ago. Hedwig found me quite quickly."

"Thank Merlin for that. Could you help me _out_ of this stuff please, Albus?"

"Oh yes, sorry Severus." Dumbledore examined the potion closely for a minute, then simply tapped the black shell with his wand, and the potion vanished. Snape, who had stood up when Dumbledore arrived, overbalanced and fell backwards into the chair. Harry stifled a snigger.

"Thank you," Snape said in a grudging tone, getting back to his feet. "Why didn't you answer the phone if you were back in Britain?"

"Because I wasn't at Hogwarts." Dumbledore didn't elaborate. "Harry, my boy, any chance of a cup of tea?"

* * *

While Potter was busy in the kitchen, Severus pressed for a more informative answer.

"I was at the Burrow," Albus said, taking a seat uninvited. "Hedwig saw me there the last time she visited, which is very fortunate for you; she took the letter straight back."

"The Burrow?"

"The Weasleys' home. Don't say anything to Harry yet."

"The backup plan?"

Albus nodded. "How are things going? How is Harry? He doesn't look starving to me."

"That's because I've been feeding him, Albus," Severus said, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "You should have seen him just a few days ago."

"I will take your word for it. May I ask for details of what's been going on?"

"It'll have to wait," Severus muttered, hearing Potter return with the tea.

"Here you are, Professor," Potter said, putting the tray down. He'd brought in a cup for all of them. "Oh rats, the sugar ..." He hurried back out of the room.

"I have to say, for someone who was demanding I send him back to Surrey when he arrived, you've been taking great care of him at your own expense," Albus said with a twinkle Severus didn't like in his eye. He didn't have a chance to reply haughtily, because the boy returned with the sugar.

"How many, Professor?" he asked Albus.

"Five please, Harry. Thank you very much."

It wasn't as if he _liked_ the boy. Albus was kidding himself if he thought he did. Severus didn't deny it was actually rather useful having him around, and even somewhat companionable (only when he was silent and didn't mess things up), but that was as far as it went. His only concern was making sure the boy didn't meet his end at the hands of his so-called loving family. He would still have much preferred to not have to see the boy at all.

* * *

Snape drained his tea quickly, and retreated upstairs, leaving Harry alone with Dumbledore.

"How are you, Harry? Having a good summer?"

He considered his answer carefully. "Okay. Professor Snape keeps me busy."

"So I hear," Dumbledore said. "How are your family, are they all right?"

Harry shrugged. "Fine."

"Are they settling in well?"

"Yeah, I think so." It was an effort to keep the resentment out of his voice and he had a feeling he wasn't fooling Dumbledore, so he decided to change the subject. "How was Cyprus?"

"Oh ... er ... very good, thank you Harry," Dumbledore said, sounding slightly taken aback.

A comfortable silence fell for a while, broken only when Snape returned downstairs. He had changed his clothes and looked a bit more relaxed now, or at least less tense and angry.

"I need some air," he muttered, pausing in the doorway. "And to stretch my legs."

"How about a nice stroll around your garden?" Dumbledore suggested. Snape shook his head.

"No, that won't cut it. Potter, how do you fancy a walk along the promenade?"

"Er ... you mean me too?" Harry asked, slightly confused.

"Unless you want to stay here pickling frog brains."

Harry jumped to his feet. "I'll come."

"I thought you would."

Dumbledore smiled, as if at some secret thought, wished them a good day and went to wash up his cup.

* * *

Harry hadn't really ventured out of Arrow Close yet, but Snape obviously knew where he was going. They turned left out of the close into a road that was fairly quiet, and sloped slightly downhill. They passed houses painted white or bright colours, buildings made of flint and old stone, several pubs, a school and a few small shops. Eventually they came out on a main road, and with a slight jolt Harry realised they were at the seafront.

 _That's_ what Snape had meant by the promenade.

They crossed, and began along the pavement at a slower pace, giving Harry plenty of time to take it in. On the land side, the road was lined with pubs, restaurants, gift shops and hotels. On the other side, he didn't see the beach immediately for a couple of wooden buildings and a cluster of boats. They passed a large amusements complex filled with slot machines, and Harry paused to peer inside.

Snape looked at him. "Do you want to go in?"

"Um ... yes, please."

It was relatively early, and there weren't that many people around, but it was still very noisy inside with pumping music and the sounds of the individual games. Harry wandered around, taking it in. He'd never been in anything like this before. He wished he had some Muggle change to try some of the machines out, but didn't like to ask Snape. Still, he made a mental note to come back at some point.

Once he had been around the place, he went back outside to where Snape was waiting, and they continued. Next to the building was a small funfair, but it looked closed.

"Too early," Snape said as Harry pressed his face to the bars of the gate. "It's only ten o'clock, I don't think it opens until half past."

"Can we come back then?"

"I don't see why not, as long as you don't expect me to go on anything."

Harry grinned. "Thanks!"

Next to the funfair was a rectangle lake of water with strangely shaped boats bobbing on it, all covered up. They passed a deflated bouncy castle, a miniature railway, a picnic area with food huts all down one side, a small marina, a set of trampolines, a children's play area, ball game areas and a crazy golf course.

Every now and then Harry had caught a glimpse of the sea, and now they found themselves with nothing between them and the beach. It was a beautiful day, and more people were beginning to appear.

Snape stopped for a breather. "Smell that air, Potter."

Harry had to admit the sea air smelled fantastic, but he was feeling rather uncomfortable. Snape noticed him fidgeting. "Something wrong?"

"No, sir."

Snape frowned, not fooled, but his eye seemed to be caught by something. "Ah."

Harry turned to see what he was looking at. "What?"

"You haven't had any breakfast, have you?"

It was only now Snape said it, that Harry realised he was right. Dumbledore's arrival had driven it straight out of his mind.

"Oh. No, I haven't."

Snape glanced at his watch, then without answering strode off. Harry hurried after him. He didn't know what he had been expecting, but it wasn't for Snape to stop in front of a fish and chip stand that had just opened its doors and ask him what he wanted.

Harry stared at the menu, lost for words. "Um ... cod?"

"One cod and chips, please," Snape said to the man in the window. "And—a drink?" He turned back to Harry.

This time Harry knew what he wanted instantly. "A Coke, please."

They had to wait a while for the cooker to heat up, but the smell was heavenly. Harry's mouth was watering like crazy when his food was finally handed over. Harry added condiments and hurried after Snape, who was heading back towards the beach.

Harry's insides squirmed harder as he stepped onto the shingle, but the sea was quite far out and Snape had stopped at a picnic table.

The food was hot, golden and crispy, with just the right amount of salt and vinegar—perfect. The Coke can was straight from the fridge. Harry hadn't tasted anything this good since the end of term feast (no offence to Snape's cooking intended). He focused on what he was eating, trying to block out the sounds of the sea.

He could feel Snape's eye on him, and when they had finished, Snape asked him again. "Are you sure you're all right, Potter?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Even better now," Harry said with a forced grin. "Thanks, Professor."

 **TBC ...**


	12. Confessions Over Ice Cream

**Review Response to Flash Bolt** : You seem to have PMing disabled. Yes, I am aware, but A/M has always been my OTP and, well, it's fanfiction.

* * *

 **Chapter Twelve: Confessions Over Ice Cream**

Harry sighed once he'd finished his fish and chips, barely resisting the temptation to lick the crumbs from the polystyrene platter. Somehow he didn't think Snape would like that.

"I take it you enjoyed that," Snape said with a twitch of the mouth, as if he had read Harry's mind.

"Yes, Professor. Thank you."

"In future it would be preferable for you to not forget meals," Snape said in a pointed tone.

"Um, I'll try not to, sir."

"Good." Snape paused and looked around them. Harry glanced around too. The seaside attractions were starting to open; he could see a few kids on the trampolines and hear more from the playground. He could also see the beginnings of a queue for the crazy golf.

He had never played crazy golf before, though he had been forced to watch the Dursleys a couple of times, and it looked quite fun. This particular course seemed to have a theme; from where he was sitting he could see a pirate ship and a skull waterfall, and recalled earlier passing another ship and a chest filled with fake treasure.

For some reason the memory triggered another one, and he puzzled them both over for a while, not really paying any attention to Snape.

"Gemini," Harry said suddenly.

"Pardon?"

"The crossword answer. Double lights, that means the twin stars, right? And 'self contains treasure'—Gem-in-I."

Snape stared at him in disbelief. "You said you weren't good at them."

"I know," Harry said with a silly grin. "That's the first one I've ever been able to work out. You're welcome, by the way."

Snape didn't thank him. "What were you staring at so avidly just now?"

"Just the crazy golf."

"Have you ever played it?"

"No," Harry said.

"Neither have I." Snape looked back at it. "The Headmaster is rather a fan, though."

Harry grinned at this mental image. "Is he good at it?"

"He holds the world record."

" _Really?_ "

"Yes, and for ten pin bowling as well. Never, under any circumstances, challenge him to any kind of Muggle game involving precise hand-eye co-ordination, for you will sorely lose."

"Personal experience?" Harry said with a raised eyebrow.

Snape only grimaced in reply. Harry took this to mean a 'yes'.

"If you want a go," Snape said suddenly after a moment, "just ask."

Harry grinned. "Can we?"

"I suppose so." Snape stood up. "On one condition."

"What's that?"

"You never, _ever_ tell Albus Dumbledore that you managed to talk me into it."

* * *

Later, Harry wished he had had a camera. As casual as Snape had been about the game before they started, he turned out to be quite competitive. This suited Harry fine; it was a trait they shared. Snape had a tendency to glare at the obstacles when he failed to overcome them, and at one point he swore at the offending slope.

Seeing Snape get frustrated over a game of crazy golf was quite amusing, as well as a refreshing change, and Harry stored the mental image away to describe to Ron and Hermione later.

They turned out to be quite evenly matched in terms of skill, and to Harry's delight he won by one point. Snape looked rather sour about it, but held his tongue.

By the time the game ended, the midday sun was streaming down, and both Harry and Snape desperately needed to cool down. Harry's mouth watered as he saw an ice cream stand, and as if reading his mind again—or perhaps the expression on his face, perhaps—Snape strode over.

"Flavour, Potter?"

"Chocolate," Harry said immediately, then quickly added, "please."

"One chocolate, one rum and raisin," Snape said to the woman in the stand.

When they had their cones in their hands, Snape headed back to their picnic table on the beach, and Harry reluctantly followed.

The first lick was like heaven. Ice cream was one of Harry's all-time favourite foods. This particular brand wasn't _quite_ as good as Florean Fortescue's (nothing was), but still delicious and very welcome to a sticky, sweltering teenager.

"I take it the chocolate is good," Snape said after Harry had inhaled half his cone.

"Uh-huh," Harry said, not managing anything more for a moment because of the brain freeze. "What's rum and raisin like?"

"Raisiny."

"Not rummy?"

"Somewhat."

Harry giggled.

Silence fell. Harry was deep in thought as he ate his ice cream, and after he had finished, waiting for Snape to finish his at more sedate pace.

"Professor," he said eventually, unable to stop himself from asking anymore, "why are you doing all this?"

Snape looked at him sharply. "Doing what?"

"You know. Giving me food and money and ... and crazy golf!"

Snape's mouth twitched, but he looked conflicted, as if he wasn't sure how to answer.

"You don't really _need_ me to work for you, do you?" Harry asked.

For a moment he thought Snape wasn't going to answer. "No, I do not," he finally admitted.

"So why ..." Harry asked, puzzled.

"I did not wish for you to be starved or worked to death, Potter. This way you can get what you need whilst keeping those relatives of yours happy."

"But ... why?"

Snape blinked. "Pardon?"

"Well it's not like you like me, we both know you don't. So why go out of your way to—"

"Potter," Snape said, sounding exasperated. "I _don't_ like you. But I would never allow a child to be abused on my watch."

Harry flinched. "There's no _abuse_ ," he mumbled, going red. Merlin, _this_ was why Snape was acting so weird? He thought the Dursleys were beating him or something? "You've got it wrong."

It was only as he was saying that that he realised by putting Snape right he was probably going to end up back in the position he had been in before Snape employed him—locked in his room around the clock with little to no food, cut off from everyone. But it was too late to take the words back, and besides, he wouldn't have wanted to keep his escape hours through dishonesty.

"There's more than one kind of abuse, Potter," Snape said darkly. He sounded highly uncomfortable, having this conversation with him, but ploughed on determinedly. "If you don't want to discuss it with me here and now, that's fine. But you should talk with _someone_ , someday."

Harry didn't reply. "Your cone's melting."

Snape looked down and hurriedly slurped up his runny ice cream in a most undignified manner. Harry giggled, breaking the tension, and Snape shot him a sour look.

"Since we seem to be in a sharing mood," he said as he finished off his cone, "perhaps you could tell me the truth about what is bothering you."

Harry's smile vanished. He opened his mouth to say 'nothing', but somehow he could no longer do it.

"The—the sea."

"What about it?" Snape asked, sounding surprised.

"I ... sort of ... don't like water," Harry said in a hurry. "I'm sort of ... slightlyactuallyveryafraidofit."

It took a moment for Snape to untangle the end of the sentence. "Oh."

"I'm wary enough of ponds and lakes," Harry mumbled. "But the sea ... I mean ... it _moves on its own_. It scares the hell out of me." He finished in a voice so low he wasn't even sure Snape with his bat-like ears could hear him.

"I see," Snape said slowly. Harry hoped that would just be the end of it, and he would never regret opening his big mouth. Sure, Snape had been decent enough recently, but who knew how he would use this against him once term started again ...

A silence fell except for the crunch of Snape finishing his cone. Once he was done, he stood up, and pulled Harry to his feet.

"Take off your shoes and socks."

Harry stared at him, panic beginning to build in his chest. "Wh-what?"

"Take them off, Potter." Snape was removing his own and starting to roll up his trouser legs.

Harry let out an embarrassing whimper. "Wh-why?"

"Because if you don't face your fear it will rule you for the rest of your life. Take them off or I will do it for you."

Harry's hands were shaking so badly he could barely undo his trainers. Snape told him to leave them and follow him.

It was a tough decision—what scared him more, Snape or the sea?

"Come on, Potter," Snape said.

Snape. Probably.

Harry stumbled after him, wincing on the stones. They didn't seem to bother Snape—maybe he went barefoot on the beach all the time.

He was having difficulty breathing as they approached the shoreline. The waves were comparatively gentle, but that didn't make Harry feel any better. He knew it was stupid, but he had always imagined the sea as some great monster whose sole purpose was to devour anyone foolish enough to step in it.

The kind of thing Hagrid would love, in fact.

"I-I-I can't do this, Professor," he stammered, his teeth chattering.

"Yes you can." Snape's tone was suddenly much gentler. Harry didn't even know Snape _had_ a gentle tone of voice.

"No I can't!" Harry's voice rose another few notches, and he was shaking so hard he almost fell over. "Please, sir, I can't."

"Potter, I have been there," Snape said in the kindest voice Harry had ever heard him employ. "I know how you feel, and I am telling you, you can do this." He held out a hand.

Harry stared at it. "Y-you were scared of w-w-water too?"

"Not water. Heights. I couldn't even look out of a first floor window without becoming dizzy to the point of incapacitation. Now I can comfortably admire the view from the Astronomy Tower. You _can_ do this."

Very slowly, Harry took Snape's hand. It was clasped firmly.

"Baby steps, Potter. Bend down and put your hand in the next wave."

Trying not to imagine it being bitten off by the sea monster, Harry squatted and held out a shaking hand, just as the next wave rolled up. He jumped as if electrocuted as it made contact with the tips of his fingers, and tried to snatch it away, but Snape took a hold of that one as well and kept it in the water.

Neither of them spoke. Harry's knees almost gave way, but Snape let go of his hand in the water to take a firm grip on his shoulders. It took a moment for Harry to realise that, despite not having it forced into the water anymore, Harry hadn't taken his hand out. He was still shaking like crazy, but he fought the urge to get as far away from the water as possible, and gradually, his trembling eased.

"There," Snape said finally. "Are you ready to go deeper?"

Harry shook his head vigorously. Snape's grip tightened.

"I'm right here, Potter. Nothing is going to happen to you. Just take one small step into the water. I'm right here, I won't let you go."

 **TBC …**


	13. Exposed

**Chapter Thirteen: Exposed**

Harry took a deep breath and made the step.

He was clinging to Snape so hard he was sure he was probably giving the guy some nasty bruises, but he couldn't help it. Snape made no complaint. A wave washed over Harry's ankle and he shuddered violently. His ice cream was no longer sitting very well in his stomach.

Snape didn't urge him further for a while, just kept a firm hold on him, and Harry gripped him back in return. He felt as if he didn't hang on, he would fall down and be consumed by the sea. He tried to focus on something other than the moving water—like how many clouds he could count in the sky (not many), or how Snape's hair was blown about his face.

"Another step?" Snape eventually asked.

Harry whimpered again, but nodded _. I'm a Gryffindor_ , he told himself as he took it _. I'm supposed to be brave. Oh Merlin I don't like this—_

"Well done, Potter."

Harry caught his breath. The water was up to his ankles now, not just washing over them every now and then when a wave came. It didn't help things that the water was freezing.

"One more step?" Snape suggested.

Harry's nerve failed him, and he shook his head vigorously, stepping back. Snape let him.

"All right, that's enough for today. That was very good, Potter."

"Good?" Harry croaked. "I'm a Gryffindor; I'm not supposed to be scared—"

"Being brave doesn't mean not being scared," Snape reminded him. "It means facing your fears. Which you have done."

"Not enough."

"You can't expect miracles straight away, Potter. All progress no matter how small is still progress."

They returned to the table, Snape cast a furtive drying spell, and they put their shoes back on.

"I seem to recall you wished to visit the funfair," Snape said once they had finished.

Harry remembered, but his stomach was still churning and his nerves were shattered. "I—I don't think I can, sir. Not now, I don't feel …" He trailed off, searching for the right words. Snape nodded.

"Very well. Another day it is."

They returned to the house in silence, and Harry collapsed onto the sofa with no need to be told to rest. Without speaking, Snape put a blanket over him and held a finger over the television power button, giving Harry a questioning look.

"Yes, please." In truth Harry would have liked a nap, but he was afraid of sea-related nightmares.

* * *

He did doze off eventually. His fears were confirmed as he dreamed he was back at the beach, waist-deep in the water. Waves crashed right over his head, swallowing him, and he floundered, unable to breathe, no longer able to find the sea floor. The pressure was crushing him, and he was sure he was going to die—

A crash made him jerk awake, gasping for breath, his heart hammering. He was back in Snape's house, he wasn't drowning, he could breathe, there was no water around him.

"Sorry, Potter, did I wake you?"

Still jumpy, he started, and looked around. Snape, it seemed, had dropped a cup of tea on the floor. As Harry's pulse slowed, Snape repaired the cup and Vanished the spilled liquid with a wave of his wand.

"Nah," Harry lied once he had got his breath back. "I'm done with sleeping." He pushed the blanket down and sat up. He looked around for something to keep him awake, and his eyes fell on Snape's chess set. _That_ would keep him awake.

"Don't even think about it," the black king said when he saw Harry eyeing the board. They had quickly got tired of his one-sided matches.

"Professor Snape …" Harry said slowly.

"Yes, Potter?"

"Are you busy?"

"No." Snape sat down the other end of the sofa with a fresh cup of tea. "Why?"

Harry gestured at the chess set. "Black or white?"

* * *

Harry's water exposure therapy continued as predicted. Every morning, when there were less people about, Snape took Harry to the beach and had him step into the sea, a little further each time.

Harry shook and stumbled, and one terrifying morning he had slipped on a seaweed-covered rock and fell, going under. He had screamed, or tried to, his mouth and lungs filling with seawater. He was choking as Snape pulled him up.

"I'm so sorry," Snape had said, holding Harry secure with one arm and giving him a thump on the back with the other. "I lost my balance too or I would have caught you—"

Harry had gagged and Snape led him back towards the shore.

The next morning Harry refused point blank to go.

"No. I can't do it. I can't do _that_ again."

"Potter," Snape said, "if you don't go then all the progress you've made will be for nothing."

"I can live with that," Harry said stubbornly.

"With giving up? That does not sound like you, Potter. Usually you are a tenacious little br—boy." Harry had a feeling Snape had been going to end that statement differently. "Of course, it doesn't make a difference to me either way, but I would have thought the Famous Harry Potter wouldn't have wanted to live in the knowledge that he was beaten by a water phobia."

"It hasn't _beaten_ me!"

"Then prove it," Snape said promptly.

"Fine! I'll do it!" Harry paused, and frowned. "I know what you did there."

"Well I would hope so. It was hardly my most underhand technique; even _you_ aren't _that_ dim. Now put your shoes on."

* * *

Harry's progress was the sea level at knee height. He was still far from being able to go that deep without clinging onto Snape like a limpet or shaking as if he was a dog trying to dry himself, but Snape was optimistic about how far he had come. Harry personally felt no less afraid of the water than he had when he started; if anything he was _more_ terrified the more time he spent in it. The nightmares were continuing, and Harry frequently woke up gasping, under the impression he had been drowning.

Apart from that, though, life was surprisingly good. Since admitting that the employment was a farce to keep the Dursleys off Harry's back, Snape had not been setting Harry any work tasks. He seemed to feel that confronting his fears every morning was enough to be going on with, and let Harry spend the rest of the day how he liked.

Things between them were also improving. Until the first day on the beach, conversation had been pretty limited to what they or Harry were doing. But now they had both come clean, it felt much more easy-going between them. They talked about crosswords and Quidditch and all sorts of random things.

One day, Snape said he needed to get some groceries, and Harry offered to come and lend a hand.

"You want to come?"

Harry shrugged. He was actually rather touched that Snape had been willing to trust him in the house on his own—proof that things really _had_ been changing—but he would still like to get some fresh, non-sea air. And he did slightly miss helping Snape out. "Yeah. Another pair of hands can't hurt, can it?"

"I suppose not. Come on then."

They walked to the supermarket and Snape, more experienced, took the trolley, while Harry did the running up and down looking for things on the list.

"We need something for tonight," Snape said with a glance at the list as they turned into the fish aisle. "You pick, I'm not fussy."

Harry grinned. "Really?" Snape just gave him a pointed look, and he started looking at the shelves. There was so much _choice_ , he wasn't used to choosing what he liked. At Hogwarts the choices were limited, apart from the start and end of term feasts, in which he usually ate a bit of everything and gave himself a stomach ache the next day.

"Potter," Snape said, starting to sound impatient.

Harry's eyes fell on the packs of prawns, and he grinned, grabbed one and hurried back to the trolley.

"Prawns?" Snape's lip curled slightly.

"You said I could choose. Don't you like them?"

"So I did. And no, I don't. But you can have them if you want them; I'll choose something else for myself. Put them in."

"Thanks Professor!"

There was no more dispute until, in the tinned foods aisle, Snape discovered they had missed cheese, and sent Harry back. Harry retraced their steps, picked out a block of cheddar, and was just about to leave the aisle when he stopped dead.

Before he could turn and hurry in the opposite direction, Petunia turned to see him standing there.

"What are _you_ doing here? You're supposed to be at Mr Snape's house!" she snapped.

"I—I—" Harry was saved from formulating an explanation as Snape, apparently seeing what was taking Harry so long, rounded the corner. He immediately plastered a benign smile on his face, but Harry knew now it was false.

"Ah, Mrs Dursley. Good day. How are you?"

"I'm fine." Petunia's eyes narrowed at Harry. "What is _he_ doing here? I thought you were going to keep him under—"

"I do," Snape interrupted. "Mostly. But I am in rather a hurry so I utilised him for helping me with the shopping. Potter knows if he tries anything I'll make him eat a live toad."

Harry grimaced, shuddering.

"Potter, sometime today." Snape's voice hardened. Harry hurried to put the cheese in the trolley.

"Well, I must get on, Petunia. See you later."

"Yes ... see you," she said slowly. Harry could feel her eyes on his back as they turned the corner.

"That was close," Harry muttered.

"Yes. Too close. We're going to have to keep up appearances until we get back home."

"I think she suspects something," Harry said, biting his lip.

"Don't worry about it, Potter," Snape said firmly, and looked back down at the list. "Vinegar's up that end."

* * *

That night, Snape cooked the prawns in a garlic sauce for Harry, and a salmon en croute for himself, and for the first time in the entire holiday, the two of them held a proper conversation at the meal table.

"So you don't like prawns?"

"I'm not overly keen on shellfish at all," Snape said, with a contemptuous glance at Harry's plate.

"I don't like mussels," Harry said thoughtfully. "But it's about the only thing I don't like."

"Oh really? There's no other foods you dislike?"

"Well … I've rather gone off salad. Not that I ever loved it, but it was okay with other food. I've gone off grapefruit too, I think. I like other fruit though. Especially strawberries."

"They are rather good," Snape agreed. "Especially with cream."

"Ooh, yes." Harry giggled and Snape actually smiled a little.

"How are the prawns?"

In truth, Harry was regretting asking especially for the prawns, because they didn't taste like he remembered. In fact they tasted a bit odd. Maybe it was how they were cooked? Perhaps Snape had put some weird herb or something in the sauce.

"They're delicious, Professor. Thank you."

He didn't like it much, but to be polite finished it all, not wanting to offend Snape after all he had done for him.

 **TBC …**


	14. Accidents Happen

**Chapter Fourteen: Accidents Happen**

"Wake up, boy! It's eight o'clock!"

Harry groaned as he slowly came to. Petunia was shaking him.

"About time too! Come on, get your lazy arse out of bed, Snape's going to be—"

The doorbell rang.

"Here any minute," she finished pointedly. "Come on, get up and get some clothes on for goodness' sake."

Harry carefully sat up, wincing. His stomach hurt, and he felt like he was going to throw up. His bedroom span as he got slowly out of bed, and he had to seize the wall to stop himself falling.

"Potter?"

He made a noise in his throat, not daring open his mouth. Snape appeared in the doorway.

"What's the matter with you?"

Harry tried taking a step towards him, and the world lurched again. Snape assessed the situation quickly and grabbed his arm.

"Careful, Potter. You're sick."

Harry wished he hadn't said that word, because the urge to vomit was getting stronger. He clapped his hand over his mouth, and Snape got the message.

He grabbed Harry and lifted him in his arms before hurrying across the landing with him towards the bathroom. Harry reached the toilet just in time, and Snape cast a hurried silencing charm and closed the door.

Harry wanted to thank Snape—if he had thrown up over the carpet, Petunia would have made him clean it himself—but couldn't speak. Cold sweat ran down his skin as he heaved. Snape kept one hand resting on his shoulder, keeping him from keeling over.

"Ugh."

"Feel better?" Snape enquired.

"Not really," Harry croaked.

"Feel able to get over the road?"

"Um ... give me a moment." Harry stood up shakily, but didn't like to move away from the toilet bowl just in case he set off another round. Snape waved his wand and the contents emptied, taking the smell with it.

"Thanks Professor."

"Don't mention it. Shall we?"

Harry made his way slowly downstairs, clinging to the bannisters as he went. Snape descended by his side, ready to grab him if he looked like he was going to keel over again.

Petunia glared at Harry as he finally reached the hall. "What took you so long, freak? I'm so sorry Mr Snape."

"Well the joke's on him," Snape said. "I will be keeping him longer this time, overnight. Is that all right by you?"

"Oh, by all means, take him!"

"Thank you. It may be he has to stay more than one night, we'll see how much work he gets done. Come on, Potter." Snape took hold of his arm, which probably looked forceful, but it was acting as a support.

"Yes sir," Harry said weakly, and stumbled out of the house.

He felt a little better for the fresh air, but still terrible. Snape walked him into the house, set him down on the sofa and started examining him with the same kind of rod Madam Pomfrey used.

"What exactly do you feel?"

"Um ... nauseous. Hot. Shivery. Weak. And my stomach hurts."

"Hmm." There was silence for a couple of minutes, before Snape finally announced, "Food poisoning."

Harry's mind went immediately to the funny-tasting prawns last night, and suddenly regretted being so polite. If they'd been off, then surely even Snape couldn't have been offended if he had not eaten them. _Well done, Potter_ , he thought.

"That's bad?" he croaked.

"It's unpleasant, but you're not in any immediate danger. I'm afraid I can't give you a potion for it."

"Why not?"

"Wizards don't have a cure for everything. With food poisoning, Healers have tried various magical methods over the years to remove the offending bacteria—or whatever—from the system, but so far nothing has been found to be more effective than letting nature take its course. As for treating the symptoms alone, well, I'm sure you've heard the expression 'Better out than in'."

"Yeah."

"Anti-nausea potions or the like would cause more problems in the long run. So there's no shortcut. Just rest, and make sure you drink plenty of water."

Harry nodded. Snape fetched him a jug of water and a glass, the blanket, and an Everlastingly Hot Water Bottle for the pain.

"Get some rest, Potter," Snape said gently, "and let me know when you feel like you could try eating something, all right?"

Harry nodded. "I will. Thank you."

* * *

Potter dozed for a couple of hours, looking rather the worse for wear. Severus stayed in the room, quietly doing his crosswords, and keeping half an eye on him. Late morning, he decided it was probably time he woke Potter up and got him to at least drink some water, if not eat something.

"Potter?" Severus placed a hand on his shoulder and shook it gently. "Time to wake up."

"Huh."

"Potter. Come on, wake up."

The boy stirred reluctantly and bleary eyes opened. "Pr'f'ss'r?"

Severus pressed the glass of water into his hands. "You can't sleep all the time, Potter, you need to keep your fluids up."

Potter struggled into a half-sitting position and sipped at the water.

"Do you think you could manage anything to eat yet?"

"I-I dunno … maybe …"

"I'll get you something to try." Severus left him still sipping and began searching his cupboards for something fairly bland. Remembering that Potter liked fruit, he cut up a banana and returned to the living-room with it.

Potter was sitting up properly now, and accepted his breakfast with a weak smile. "Thanks." He picked at the banana slowly, and Severus picked up the _Daily Prophet_ again.

After a while of silence, the bowl fell to the floor as Potter suddenly jumped off the sofa, swayed slightly, and sprinted towards the downstairs toilet. Severus hesitated, wondering whether to follow or wait and see if Potter called him. There was a cry and then silence.

"Potter?" he called. "Are you all right?"

"Um ... Professor ..." Potter sounded somewhere between tearful and mortified. "I—I've had a—an accident ..."

Severus put the newspaper aside and stood up. "Do you need help?"

"Yes, please," Potter said in a small voice. "I-I'm sorry, sir."

The apology threw Severus slightly, but he hurried to the door, which hadn't been closed properly. Potter was on the toilet, white and trembling, and nervously pulling his oversized t-shirt over his knees for modesty.

Severus had been a Head of House for several years, and had dealt with all manner of sick students, so the mess didn't bother him. He simply Vanished it all. "Would you like some clean clothes?"

"Yes please sir," Potter whispered. His stomach audibly gurgled and he groaned, wrapping his arms around it.

* * *

When Harry finally emerged from the toilet some while later, he was presented with some fresh clothes—a shirt and trousers belonging to Snape that had been shrunk down to fit him—and he also discovered that the sofa and television had been moved into the middle of the room by the doorway, to be nearer the toilet.

"You need to keep your liquids up," Snape said, re-entering the living room after having bundled Harry's technically-clean-but-not-exactly-smelling-fresh clothes into the washing machine. "What were you apologising for earlier?"

Harry would have thought it was obvious. "I made a mess of your bathroom."

"You had diarrhoea; it's not your fault," Snape said simply. "Do you need anything else?"

"Um …" Harry thought. His stomach felt a bit less dodgy now. "Some food, please. Just a little, though."

"Certainly."

Harry lay back down while Snape busied himself in the kitchen. A realisation had begun to dawn on him, and it rather alarmed him.

He struggled into an upright position as Snape came back in and handed him a plate of dry toast.

"How's the pain?"

"No change," Harry replied. "Thanks." He nibbled cautiously at the crust. "I feel a bit less yucky though."

"That's good. Let me refill your water." Snape took the jug back into the kitchen.

It had taken Harry a while to realise, but any doubt had been erased after the embarrassing incident in the downstairs toilet. Had the same thing happened before the holiday, Harry would have expected Snape to make scathing comments and force him to clean up the mess himself.

But he hadn't. Snape had been so … matter of fact about it, as if this sort of thing happened to him every day. He'd helped him out, even so far as lending Harry his own clothes. Harry had still been utterly mortified of course, but Snape had definitely made it easier.

Harry's conclusion? He liked Snape.

The man may not like him back, but he'd taken care of Harry nonetheless, way above and beyond want or duty. If anything the fact that he didn't like Harry made his actions even more admirable. Harry couldn't help it; he liked him for it. Snape was a much better person than Harry had ever realised, and it puzzled him why that fact was usually so well-hidden.

Snape brought the jug back, filled with iced water, and set it back down within easy reach. "Make sure you keep your liquids up."

"I will. Thanks sir."

Snape rescued the blanket, which Harry only then realised was starting to slip off the sofa, and tucked it around him properly. Neither spoke and Snape returned to the kitchen as if nothing had happened.

Harry couldn't help but smile slightly. Being ill was horrible, but actually being looked after made it much more bearable.

His eyes were closing when the doorbell rang, making him start. His eyes flew open again and he watched Snape as he peered through the window. If Harry wasn't mistaken, Snape went slightly pale.

"It's your aunt."

 **TBC …**


	15. Being There and a Breakthrough

**AN:** Good news! This fic won the Potions and Snitches Summer Fic Fest and was given featured status on the site. I'm so happy!

* * *

 **Chapter Fifteen: Being There and a Breakthrough**

 _Uh-oh._

Harry's breath caught. He could just imagine Petunia's reaction if she saw the scene as it was. Accusing him of lounging about all day, probably assuming he had somehow tricked or otherwise persuaded Snape to stop making him work, possibly dragging him back over the road for a taste of the cane.

Judging from the expression on Snape's face, he was having similar thoughts

"Professor …" Harry pleaded weakly. _Please have something up your sleeve._

"Stay where you are, Potter," Snape said calmly. "I need you to clutch your stomach and look in pain—no, more than you do now—but do not speak or make any noise. Do you understand?"

"Why?" Harry asked, bamboozled.

"Trust me," Snape said simply, and went to open the door. Harry quickly followed his instructions.

"Mr Snape!" he heard Petunia say from the doorstep. "I thought you must be out again."

"I'm sorry if I kept you waiting; I had my hands full. Can I help you?"

"Yes … I was just wondering …" Petunia hesitated. Harry could almost read her thoughts. _If there's something going on here I'm not going to like._ "Where's the boy?"

"Oh, he's in here," Snape said. "Come and see."

Harry kept his eyes closed, his arms wrapped around his abdomen and his face screwed up as Petunia entered.

"What's going on?" she snapped. "Why's he lying down?"

"I've been working on some new healing potions," Snape said without hesitation. "Mr Potter has been my unwilling test subject. Of course, in order to heal him I first have to make him sick."

"Nothing contagious I hope?" Petunia said in a very nervous voice. Harry heard her step backwards.

"No, you're quite safe. It's only appendicitis."

"Oh, good. Well … I'll … let you get on with it."

"You could stay for a coffee if you like," Snape suggested.

"Oh, no sorry I can't; I have to pick my husband up from the station. Another time."

"Yes, certainly. Good day then, Petunia."

A few moments after the door had closed behind her, Snape spoke again. "All clear."

Harry unfolded himself and sat up, staring at Snape, who turned to see his gaze on him. "What?"

"You're way too good at lying, sir."

"Thank you. I think. You could say I've had a lot of practise."

"I won't ask."

"No, it's probably best you don't," Snape murmured.

"Why did you ask her for coffee?"

"I thought it best not to give the impression that I didn't want her in the house."

"But what if she'd said yes?"

"I had a backup plan."

"Which was?"

"Poison her."

Harry choked. " _What?_ "

"Not fatally," Snape added hastily. "Just a little Blacklace in the coffee to make her a bit woozy. She wouldn't have stayed long."

Harry was about to ask if it was legal for wizards to give Muggles potions to make them ill, before deciding that he didn't want to know. He then began to wonder if Snape ever spiked anyone else's drinks, and resolved to be wary of his pumpkin juice tasting odd in future.

* * *

The chink of china hitting the floor sent Severus back into the living-room to see Potter had dropped off, his plate falling to the floor, scattering toast crumbs everywhere. Severus cleaned it up, and then something made him pause, watching Potter for a moment.

It was odd … Looking after Potter now felt like much less of a chore than when all he had been doing was giving him food and telling him to do things. It made no sense to Severus. Maybe he had just got used to having the boy around? _That_ was a frightening thought.

"Can't be for much longer," Severus muttered to himself. Surely Albus would figure out the wards at the Weasleys' place soon enough.

He wondered vaguely how much longer it would be before Potter left Arrow Close. Then he found himself wondering if Potter would still be there on his birthday. Before Severus could stop himself, he'd found himself wondering what kind of birthday cake Potter would like.

He blinked, and shook himself mentally. Why on earth was he considering getting Potter a birthday cake?

 _He probably didn't have any with the Dursleys._

That was true. But it wasn't Severus' job. All he was supposed to be doing was keeping the boy healthy.

 _And to that end, you have fed him, taken care of him while sick, helped him overcome a phobia, entertained him, taken him out for pleasure, and given him a lot of money. Yes, that makes perfect sense._

It was true, he hadn't _needed_ to do half those things. He really didn't know why he had.

Potter stirred, and Severus realised he had been staring at him for a good couple of minutes. He sat down and began looking through some potion notes, but for once he couldn't concentrate.

* * *

An acute increase in the stomach pain woke Harry up, and he spent most of the next three hours with his head down the toilet.

Snape, as before, was brilliant. He fetched Harry a cushion for him to kneel on, and remained with him, a hand on his shoulder—perhaps to steady him, but Harry found it more of a comforting weight. He found himself fighting tears at several points, touched beyond expression. His own family had never expressed a shred of sympathy when he was ill, yet Snape, his teacher and someone who didn't even like him, was staying by his side.

By the time the nausea had subsided, it was late afternoon, and he managed to eat a little more before falling asleep again. He dozed fitfully, coming in and out of consciousness, for several more hours, waking abruptly to another bout of diarrhoea.

This time he made it in time.

"I've got you some pyjamas, Potter," Snape called through the toilet door. "And I've made up a bed for you."

"Thanks, Professor."

When Harry had finished up and emerged from the toilet, it turned out that Snape had decided Harry should take _his_ room, since it was closest the bathroom, and he would take the spare room. Every small thing he did for Harry made him warm to him more, and he nearly choked up again.

"Should you need anything in the night," Snape said firmly before Harry went to bed, "don't hesitate to wake me up. All right? I won't be cross—provided you have a genuine reason and you're not just doing it because you feel like it, that is."

Harry smiled. "Okay, sir. Thank you."

"Now, bed."

"Yes sir!"

Harry went into Snape's bedroom and closed the door. The bed was made up ready, with crisp green sheets and duvet set. Harry changed into the pyjamas Snape had got for him, which had a price tag still attached, and opened the door to make an easy path to the bathroom. He snuggled down under the duvet, nose filled with the smell of Snape's laundry powder, and stretched across the width of the double bed.

 _Definitely better than mine._

He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep almost instantly.

* * *

Severus was woken by the sound of retching on the landing, followed by the sound of someone crashing into a door.

He threw back his covers and hurried out of the spare room, slapping on the light to ensure he didn't slip in anything.

 _Oh, great._ By the look of things, Potter was having trouble _both_ ends at once.

He could hear Potter heaving in the bathroom, and Vanished the double trail along the carpet and conjured a bucket.

"Potter? I'm coming in."

Severus received no answer except a gagging noise, and stepped very carefully into the bathroom. Given his limited choice, Potter had chosen to sit on the toilet and vomit onto the floor. Severus Vanished the mess and positioned the bucket. Potter groaned.

"I'll get you some fresh clothes," Severus said gently. "Is there anything else you need?"

Potter shook his head slowly. "S-sorry, sir."

"I told you before, it's not your fault."

"B-but … I-I … all in y-your b-bed …" Tears were rolling down Potter's cheeks.

"Don't worry about it." Severus brushed them away without thinking about it.

When he had first taken Potter in, so to speak, he had bought the pyjamas as a 'just in case', hoping he would never have to use them. He had, though, only bought one pair, which now it seemed had been an oversight. Severus rifled through his clothes and decided the best thing he could do was shrink down a t-shirt and shorts for Potter.

Next he checked on his bedroom. Potter was right—he hadn't even been able to get out of bed in time, let alone to the bathroom. Severus Vanished it all, and changed the bedcovers again. Good thing he kept spare sets.

Potter remained in the bathroom for well over an hour. Despite his obvious embarrassment, he was happy for Severus to stay in there with him, hand on his shoulder as he threw up seven more times. Potter trembled through it and felt frailer than ever.

When he finally left the bathroom, looking white and exhausted, Severus made him drink more water before he went back to bed. Potter sat on the edge of Severus' bed, sipping his way down a glass, still looking shaky.

"Thank you," he said to Severus after having finally swallowed the last drop.

"You're welcome." Snape put the empty glass down. "Is there anything else I can do for you before you turn in again?"

This time Potter hesitated. "Um …"

"What?"

"It's just—I wanted to say—thank you. For, um, you know, being there w-with me and—and stuff. And—and holding m-me—n-no-one's ever—" Potter cut himself off, but Severus didn't need to be a Legilimens to understand.

No-one had ever looked after Potter when he was sick before. As if Severus needed another reason to despise the Dursleys.

Looking at Potter, he could see how vulnerable the boy really was. Everyone was somewhat vulnerable when they were ill, needing comfort and someone else to take care of them—but Potter was in a different league. Right at that moment, Severus probably looked to the boy like the closest thing to a loving parent he had ever known.

For some reason, the thought didn't repel Severus. He didn't know why, until he decoded the unspoken request, and reached out to Potter again, resting his hand back on his shoulder. Potter unexpectedly moved at the touch, leaning closer to Severus, who froze.

"S-sorry—" Potter drew back, looking thoroughly embarrassed. "I—thought—sorry!"

Severus realise too late Potter had thought he was trying to hug him. Very gently, not wanting to startle the child, he drew him into his arms. Potter rested his head on his chest and wound his own arms around Severus in return. For such scrawny limbs they had a very tight grip.

 _I'm hugging Harry Potter,_ Severus thought in horror. When had _this_ become part of the job description?

 _Merlin help me. I_ _like_ _him._

 **TBC …**


	16. Greedy For More

**Review response about the food poisoning:** In answer to the question of why Severus hasn't cured Harry … my mistake for missing that out of the dialogue, I've corrected that now (see Chapter Fourteen). Also, apologies if I got a bit carried away and it's unrealistic. I'm not sure if I can really tone it down now though without losing some of the character development.

* * *

 **Chapter Sixteen: Greedy For More**

The bed felt odd when Harry woke up.

He lay very still for a while as his brain slowly shook off the stupor, and began to process things. It took him several long minutes to work out why it felt so strange.

His eyes flew open.

Harry was lying, not in bed exactly, but on his teacher, who had fallen asleep leaning against the headboard. Snape's arms were still encircling him, and though he was clearly still asleep, they were holding Harry securely enough that he didn't slip out of his grip. Harry's pillow was actually Snape's shoulder.

Snape had held him all night long. Harry's chest filled with warmth and he gazed at his sleeping Professor, vision blurring, feeling a rush of affection for him.

He had no idea what the time was. Judging from the sun streaming through the curtains, it was quite late in the morning. But Harry didn't want to move, for fear of waking Snape up, and ending the moment. He closed his eyes again, content to just remain the way they were, when a prickling feeling on the back of his neck told him they weren't alone.

His eyes snapped open again, and he lifted his head very slightly off Snape's shoulder to see the doorway.

Albus Dumbledore was standing there, leaning on the frame and smiling broadly at them, eyes twinkling so brightly they could have been stars. "Good morning, Harry," he said warmly.

"Um … morning, Professor," Harry whispered, puzzled. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh … I was in the neighbourhood and thought I would drop in to see how you two were getting on. When nobody answered I thought I should check nothing was wrong. I must say, I was not expecting to be greeted with a sight quite like this."

Harry couldn't find it in himself to be embarrassed.

"Anyway … shall I put the kettle on? I imagine Severus will be waking up fairly soon."

"Er … okay," Harry said slowly. Dumbledore, still smiling, disappeared out of sight.

Harry yawned and snuggled close to his Potions teacher again, but unfortunately Dumbledore's prediction began to come true. Snape stirred, and Harry froze, hoping that Snape would fall back asleep, but to his disappointment he opened his eyes slowly.

"Morning, sir," Harry said quietly, still not moving. Snape blinked a few times, and looked down at him, apparently surprised to see him there.

"Oh, er … morning, Potter."

For a moment neither of them moved. Then a chink of china and metal coming from the floor below made Snape start.

"What's that?"

"Professor Dumbledore's in the kitchen," Harry said.

"I see," Snape said heavily. "What wonderful timing." He let go of Harry and rubbed his eyes, and Harry reluctantly sat up. "How are you feeling this morning?"

"Um …" Harry took a moment to consider. "Still bit yucky. But the tummy ache's more or less gone."

"That's good to hear." Snape groped for his alarm clock. "Merlin's beard, it's nearly noon." He stifled a yawn.

"Sorry," Harry mumbled.

Snape stared at him. "What on earth are you apologising for _this_ time?"

"Um … keeping you up half the night?"

"There's no need," Snape said flatly. "We've had this conver—" He broke off as Dumbledore reappeared in the bedroom doorway.

"Good morning, Severus," Dumbledore said brightly.

"Morning," Snape grumbled.

"I brought you your coffee. And your dressing-gown."

Snape got to his feet, grabbed it and put it on. "What are you doing here, Albus?"

"As I told Harry, I was in the neighbourhood and thought I'd drop in. "

"In the neighbourhood my backside," Snape muttered. "You were spying on us, you mean."

"Well, can you blame me for being curious?"

Snape didn't answer. "Potter, can I get you anything to eat?"

"Yes please, Professor," Harry said without a pause.

"Come down when you're ready." Snape steered a still-beaming Dumbledore out of the room and down the stairs.

* * *

"Look, you can wipe that smile off your face," Severus said once the two of them were out of Harry's earshot. "Potter was up half the night with food poisoning."

"You poisoned him? I know you don't like him, Severus, but really!"

"Very funny." Albus chuckled, and Severus scowled. "I could hardly just leave him to it, could I?"

"Of course not. But I was not aware that cuddling was a requirement of treating food poisoning."

Severus glared at Albus. "He fell asleep on me! What would you have me do, wake him up?"

"Severus, I may be old but I am not blind nor senile. I know what I saw, and what I saw was you hugging Harry. I think it's wonderful." His eyes were shining with something like pride.

"Well, you would."

"Are you trying to tell me that you _still_ hate him?"

Severus hesitated, unable to answer truthfully. Albus read the answer in his silence.

"I thought so. You've finally warmed to him." He sounded truly delighted.

"And you're never going to let me forget it," Severus muttered. "You realise this is a disaster waiting to happen, don't you Albus?"

"I don't believe so, no."

"I'm a _Death Eater!_ Hating the boy is a _requirement!_ What am I going to do when term starts again? If I stop treating him badly, I may as well be tattooing 'TRAITOR' on my forehead and putting my own name at the top of the Dark Lord's 'Most Wanted Dead' list. If I go back to the way we were …"

"Harry will be hurt," Albus supplied. "Very badly so."

"Precisely. So tell me what is so _wonderful_ about that."

Albus sighed. "Severus, you don't need me to tell you what to do. I know you'll make the right decision on your own. Term is still a way off, so I suggest you carry on taking care of Harry and just think on it." He paused. "I should get going. Tell Harry I said get well soon, won't you?"

* * *

After 'breakfast', Harry spent most of the afternoon dozing on and off in front of the television. When he was awake, he noticed that Snape seemed to be acting strange.

He was still waiting on Harry, and stayed with him during the single bout of vomiting, but something seemed to be on his mind. Harry also ventured into the kitchen once to refill his water, to find Snape whispering something into the phone. Upon seeing Harry, he promptly hung up.

"You could have called me instead of coming in yourself," Snape said, taking the jug from Harry and refilling it for him.

"My legs went to sleep; I wanted to stretch them." Harry debated for a moment whether or not to ask who Snape had been on the phone to. He decided against it, curious as he was. It was obviously something private, and he didn't want to annoy Snape by asking.

Harry wondered if maybe he had done something wrong by hugging Snape last night. True, Snape hadn't sought to stop him, but it wasn't something he would normally do and he couldn't think of another reason why Snape was suddenly acting so weird.

It wasn't exactly the done thing to hug your teacher. Especially when you knew they heartily disliked you. However good Snape had been at looking after him, it was one thing to accept what was on offer, _completely_ another thing to ask for more. Harry had never thought of himself as greedy before, but now he thought about it, he _always_ wanted more of anything even remotely resembling affection—no matter the source.

He'd always restrained himself from asking for it, never sought it as such, but savoured hugs from his friends and Mrs Weasley, and the occasional hand on the shoulder from Mr Weasley or occasionally one of the other teachers. But it seemed the more he received, the more he craved.

He _was_ greedy.

And in that weak moment his restraint had failed.

What should he do? Apologise? The last time he'd tried to apologise for something he'd only annoyed Snape more. Maybe he should just act like it never happened? Snape hadn't brought up the subject—maybe Harry should take his cue from him.

* * *

By the end of the day, Severus had put into motion the plan he had woken up with in his head. Merlin knew if he decided to continue his spying role, he might have a few things to explain, but he couldn't _not_ do it. Potter … _Harry_ had suffered enough already.

Not that he was going to breathe a word about it to him. Let it be a surprise.

The choice of next term had been bugging him all day; maybe the reason why he'd been so keen to do this one last thing for the boy. Well, maybe not _last_ , but who knew what the future held.

He peeked in on Harry to see he had dropped off again. Severus didn't want to wake him up, but time was ticking on, and the more Harry could sleep the better. Slowly, carefully, he eased the boy into his arms and lifted him up.

Harry stirred slightly, resting his head on his shoulder and winding his arms around his neck, before going still again. A peaceful smile graced his lips.

Severus carried him gently upstairs, trying not to think about how light he was. Harry had probably lost a substantial part of the weight he had gained at Severus', just in the last couple of days, having been able to eat hardly anything—and keep even less of it down. Still, if that could be corrected once, it could be corrected again.

He lay Harry down on his bed, pulled the covers up over him and tucked him in. He hesitated, but the urge wouldn't leave, and Harry seemed soundly asleep …

Severus leaned over him and placed a light kiss on the scarred forehead. Harry twitched but didn't wake up.

He almost expected Albus to suddenly show up again with a big grin on his face, and was relieved when he didn't.

"Good night, Harry," Severus whispered, and left the room, turning the light out on the way.

 **TBC …**


	17. Behaviour Patterns

**Chapter Seventeen: Behaviour Patterns**

It had to have been a dream.

When Harry woke up the next morning, he remembered feeling someone kiss him the night before. Well _obviously_ it had been a dream. Why would _Snape_ kiss him? Especially since he had been half asleep at the time.

All the same, Harry wished it _had_ been real, though he felt guilty for wishing it.

Waking up alone, though nothing unusual, felt lonely after being held for a whole night. Harry told himself sternly to get a grip, and then promptly had to run to the bathroom.

"Are you all right in there, Potter?"

"Fine," he called back.

"Yell if you need anything."

Harry ventured downstairs shortly afterwards, feeling a lot better than he had even the day before. Still by no means one hundred percent, but a great improvement.

The day passed much as the previous one had, only with less time spent sleeping and less runs to the downstairs toilet. Harry was also eating more, something Snape seemed very pleased about. After Harry's post-lunch nap, he got bored with the television and tentatively asked Snape if he would play chess with him.

When they had played before, after Harry's first morning on the beach, Snape had completely thrashed him. This time, Snape still won, but it was much narrower a victory. He was obviously still distracted by something.

"Checkmate," he said with a smile. "I win again."

"Only just."

"Only just still counts." Snape collected up the pieces. "Who do you normally play with?"

"Ron. He always beats me. Actually everyone does, except Hermione, and she doesn't play very much."

"Hmm. Perhaps you should try playing your Head of House once in a while."

"She's not bad, is she? I thought—"

"On the contrary. Haven't you ever looked at the wizard's chess trophy cabinet at Hogwarts? Her name's all over it. She could teach you a thing or two. How do you think I learned?"

"McGonagall taught you chess?"

"That's _Professor_ McGonagall, Potter; and she helped me improve, certainly. It's a very worthwhile thing to try, since learning to strategise is beneficial applied to all sorts of things in life. You could certainly do with some improvement in that area if you don't mind my saying. Another game?"

"Um, yeah," Harry said, still slightly in a mental tangle over the words _if you don't mind my saying_. When had Snape started to criticise like that?

* * *

By the following day, Harry felt more or less normal. Perhaps with slightly less energy than he had had before he was ill, which Snape reckoned was because of his lack of nutritional uptake in the last few days.

Although a relief, part of him was disappointed, knowing that now he was no longer ill, he no longer had a reason to be staying overnight anymore. Of course he would still be at Snape's all day, so it wasn't as if he had to go back to being with the Dursleys full time, but knowing Snape was only a few feet away from him (or less) throughout the night had been comforting in ways he didn't see himself experiencing again.

He wished he could hang onto that feeling, but chided himself. When had he got so dependent? Snape was already doing far too much for him. The man deserved _some_ Harry-free hours in his day. Harry told himself sternly to appreciate what he had and stop longing for more.

"How would you feel," Snape said while making them both lunch, "about going back to the beach tomorrow morning?"

Harry's heart sank. "Highly uncomfortable."

"I meant do you think you're up for—"

"I know. And you don't need to try any psychological tricks this time. I'll do it."

Snape smiled. "Good."

Silence fell again. Harry watched Snape preparing the sandwiches, now puzzling over Snape's smile. Was it Harry's imagination or had it been a more frequent occurrence recently?

* * *

Harry went back over to Number Nine that night, for the first time in days.

Snape had washed and put away the original set of pyjamas in the spare room. Harry hadn't been able to contain his curiosity anymore, and asked where they had come from—and the toothbrush he had been using.

"I bought them when you first started coming over, in case such a situation arose," Snape had said simply. "Come on, you don't want to be late back."

Snape marched him across the road as usual. Vernon and Dudley barely acknowledged them, but Harry felt Petunia's eyes on him as he made his way back upstairs. He couldn't shake the feeling that she suspected something.

* * *

For the next few mornings, Severus took Harry to the beach as he had done before the sickness had occurred.

Harry could wade in almost up to his knees now (with support of course), something Severus was quick to praise. He could feel the boy shaking as he did so and knew how difficult it was for him, yet without fail every morning Harry was trying. Severus could never have believed he could be so proud of someone. It seemed there was something to be said for Gryffindor courage and stubbornness after all.

With rest and proper meals, the colour came back into Harry's cheeks, and he lost the wasted look he had got during his sickness, for which Severus was thankful. The boy just didn't _have_ much weight to lose. Of course the food poising hadn't helped, but even after weeks of being looked after properly, the boy still looked far too small and fragile. Severus was going to _kill_ those Dursleys when the time came.

That time seemed to be getting closer. Harry's birthday was almost upon them, and Albus had said that the wards at the Burrow were almost ready. Harry's time with him was running out, as was Severus' time for deciding what he was going to do. Term _was_ still a way off, but it would only be fair to explain things to Harry before he left.

Of course, once Harry discovered he had once served the megalomaniac who had killed his parents, he would probably just go back to hating him anyway, so that would be the decision made. Severus couldn't deny that the prospect stung. He had more than got used to Harry; he had grown fond of him, and could hardly bear to imagine returning to their previous, mutual-loathing relationship.

* * *

There was nothing in the way Petunia shouted Harry awake, at ten to eight as usual, to suggest that the day was any different to any other.

Harry scrambled out of bed, washed speedily and had just pulled his t-shirt on when Snape turned up. He bid Petunia good day, and left Number Nine with Harry as usual.

"I think she still suspects something," Harry told him once the front door had closed behind them.

"Hmm," was Snape's only comment. Harry was taken by surprise when, instead of walking up the garden path, Snape turned and began leading him out of the close. "I have some business in town today, Potter. If you would assist me."

"Oh—okay."

Harry wondered what had happened to giving him breakfast and then taking him to the beach, but he didn't ask. Maybe Snape was beginning to get tired of doing things for him all the time. He could understand that. With a sinking heart, he followed.

He hadn't actually been in the town centre before, and looked around in curiosity when they reached the high street. Before he could take in much, Snape stopped them at an open café.

"Don't think I've forgotten about breakfast."

Hope rekindled in Harry as Snape ushered them both inside, sat them both down at a table and picked up a menu.

They ordered in the café; Snape with his usual coffee and porridge, and Harry with scrambled eggs on toast.

"So what do you need my help with?" Harry asked.

"Not much," Snape admitted. "I didn't want to say so just in case one of your relatives overheard, but I thought you just might appreciate some time out of the house. I _do_ have some things to do, but you're free to do what you like, and we can meet up in a few hours. I brought your wages out for you."

Harry's eyes widened as Snape pulled a money bag from his pocket and handed it over. It was stuffed full of notes. "Don't spend it all on sweets."

Considering Harry had long lost track of how many hundreds of pounds he had 'earned', he thought this unlikely. He had planned to save most of it, keeping it in case he ever needed Muggle cash. If this summer had taught him anything, it was to expect the unexpected.

"Oh, and Potter," Snape said before Harry could thank him. "Don't exhaust yourself. I _will_ need your assistance this afternoon with some things."

"Okay," Harry said, wondering when Snape had started working him again. Maybe Snape just had a lot of work to do that day. It wasn't as if he minded; he was just curious.

They made plans to meet back at the café, and separated. Harry wandered freely for a while. He _did_ stop in the sweet shop, but limited his purchases to a stick of Hastings rock, a bag of liquorice allsorts, another of rhubarb and custards, and a sherbet fountain. He knew he'd be dead if one of the Dursleys caught him with any of it, but figured if Snape was happy to keep his money for him, he would be happy to keep sweets for him as well.

Harry watched the kids' carousel, a juggler and a couple of musicians, dropping a fiver into each instrument case and the juggler's cap. He admired the mosaics on the walkway. He explored a couple of twittens leading to smaller shops. He breathed in the fantastic smell from the bakery.

After a while he stopped for a cup of tea, and drank it leisurely, sitting in the teashop window and watching the world go by, feeling pretty relaxed.

He appreciated the trip out. He would have to thank Snape profusely later.

* * *

At noon, Harry returned to the café. Snape was waiting for him inside, at the same table.

"Did you have a good time?" he asked as Harry sat down.

"Yes, thanks, Professor."

"Good." Snape handed him the menu. "Choose a sandwich."

Harry ordered a BLT, and sucked on a rhubarb and custard while he was waiting. Snape had a shopping bag sitting on the floor by his legs, but he didn't seem in a hurry to tell Harry what was inside.

"So what did you buy?" Snape asked.

Harry showed him the sweets. "Do you think I could keep them at your place so my relatives don't find out?"

"Of course." It was settled. Silence fell, and the sandwiches arrived.

Snape checked his watch several times while they ate. Harry got the impression he didn't want to be late for something. He ate his sandwich very quickly, and stood up when Harry was still eating, counting out some money.

"I have to make a quick call." He put the money on the table. "I'll be right back."

"Okay."

Harry watched Snape in curiosity out of the window as he finished his sandwich. Snape headed towards a phone box and went inside. After a call that couldn't have lasted more than a minute, Snape withdrew and approached the café again. Harry quickly finished his food.

"Ready to go, Potter?"

Harry nodded and stood up, wondering vaguely who Snape had been calling, and why bother using a public phone when he had one at home, but Snape didn't offer any sort of information.

"Come on then."

They returned back to Snape's house. Harry thought for a moment, as they were walking up the garden path, that he detected movement behind a curtain. Maybe it was his imagination. Or maybe Dumbledore had let himself in again.

For some reason, the house felt too silent as Snape let them in. Harry couldn't explain it.

"Living room," Snape said to him.

Slightly puzzled, Harry entered the living room, and his mouth dropped onto the floor.

"SURPRISE!"

 **TBC …**


	18. Smurfs and Surprises

**Chapter Eighteen: Smurfs and Surprises**

Crammed into the room, under a huge banner that read _Happy Birthday Harry!_ and surrounded by tonnes of balloons and streamers, was the entire Weasley family, Hermione, Neville, Dean, Seamus, Hagrid, Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, and even a big black dog who looked _very_ familiar and barked joyfully when he saw him.

Harry staggered backwards, completely lost for words. His friends made up for it.

"Harry!" Within seconds he was enveloped in hugs. "Happy birthday!"

"Huh?" he said in a faint voice, completely bewildered.

"We said happy birthday!"

"We did get the right day, didn't we?"

Harry shook himself. "Yeah, you did—I'm just so surprised to see you all!"

"Well, yeah, that's the point of a surprise party," Ron said with a grin. "So what—"

The room suddenly stilled and confused faces peered behind Harry. He turned to see Snape had followed him into the room

"Don't mind me," Snape said with a small smile playing on his lips. "Carry on." He calmly walked over to where the adults were standing, and engaged Dumbledore in conversation.

"What on earth …?" Fred said, staring at Snape.

Harry ignored the half-spoken question. "How did you guys all get here?"

"Dumbledore sent us all Portkeys," Hermione replied.

"What's a Port—wait, _Dumbledore_ threw me a birthday party?" Harry said, stunned.

"Er, no. He just arranged the transport," Ron replied. "Mum said one of your neighbours was throwing it …" He looked around the room, confused. "Where are they?"

"And why's Snape here?" Neville asked in a slightly nervous voice.

"Snape _is_ my neighbour," Harry said as soon as he could trust himself to speak. "This is his house."

They all stared at him. Dean was the first to speak. "You mean _Snape_ threw the party?"

Harry nodded, unable to take his eye off Snape. He could barely believe it himself. _That_ was why Snape had been so distractible and secretive lately? He had been organising Harry a birthday party? Harry had to fight a sudden urge to run over and hug him right there in front of everyone.

"Why on earth would he—"

"I have no idea," Harry said, turning back to them, grinning his head off and hoping his eyes weren't too bright. "So … anyone for a game?"

* * *

The mystery of Snape was quickly forgotten as party games were organised. Percy, who said he preferred to watch than join in, played the referee and took score while the other kids jumped right in.

"Things that are blue," Seamus said after a moment's thought.

Harry thought for a moment as around him, his friends started scribbling answers. He tried not to smirk as an answer came into his head. Snape would be proud of him. He wrote it down, and all the answers were collected and mixed up.

"Okay …" Seamus picked one at random and read it out. "We have 'the sky', 'my favourite t-shirt', 'blueberries', 'a blue moon', 'swimming pools', 'peacocks', 'Smurfs'—what on earth are Smurfs?— 'sapphires', 'Ravenclaw', and … 'Ron's eyes'."

There were a few sniggers.

"Fred, you get first guess."

"I'm George!"

"George, you get first guess."

"Hmm …" George made a great show of thinking hard. "Well, it's a _complete_ stab in the dark, but I'm going to guess that _Hermione_ answered 'Ron's eyes'."

"She spends enough time gazing into them," Fred said with a snigger.

Hermione and Ron both blushed heavily. Harry struggled not to smirk.

"Well, you're wrong," Hermione said, trying to sound dignified. "That wasn't my answer."

"Hah!" Ron said, then looked around at her in surprise. "It wasn't?" He sounded slightly hurt.

"Sorry, George," Seamus said. "No point for you. Harry, your go."

Harry thought very carefully. In the whole group, apart from him, only Hermione and Dean were likely to know what the Smurfs were. Hermione wasn't really the cartoony type, but he wouldn't put it past her to have chosen them specifically for that reason.

"I'm guessing Hermione wrote Smurfs."

She shook her head again, to his disappointment. "Nope."

"What _are_ Smurfs?" Ron asked curiously.

"Never mind, next guess. Ron?"

Ron frowned slightly, looking at George. "I bet George wrote blueberries."

"Wrong!" George said with a grin.

Hermione looked smug as her turn rolled around. "I bet _Fred_ wrote blueberries."

Fred gasped, clutching his heart, and keeled over dramatically. "She got me!"

"You hate blueberries," George said in amusement to his twin.

"Exactly, bro. And you love them. Trust Hermione to guess my tactics."

"One point to Hermione, then," Seamus announced, and Percy made a show of noting it down. Fred scooted out of the circle and watched, still grinning.

By the time everyone had made a guess, only he, Neville (the sky) and Ron (favourite t-shirt) had been sent out, with points to Dean and Bill respectively. "You should have picked something that implies someone else's tastes," Fred told them.

"George, your turn again."

He crackled his knuckles. "I think Ginny wrote peacocks."

Ginny sighed. "Thanks a lot, George."

"You're welcome. One point to me!"

"Birthday boy?"

Harry grinned. "I bet Dean wrote Smurfs."

"Sorry, Harry, wrong again," Dean said with a smirk.

"Seriously?" Now Harry was completely thrown. Everyone else in the circle was a pureblood.

"I think Hermione wrote blue moon," Dean said smugly.

Hermione's face fell. "Oh. He's right."

"That's two points to me!"

"Well, I think you wrote swimming pools," Bill said, speaking up for the first time.

Dean deflated. "Rats."

"George," Charlie said, "I think you wrote Smurfs."

George gave a great theatrical sigh. "I confess. It's a fair cop."

"What _is_ a Smurf?" Ron demanded from outside the circle.

It was Harry's turn again. He faced Bill and Charlie, thinking hard. What was left? 'Ravenclaw' and 'sapphires'.

Bill worked for Gringotts, so sapphires would be the obvious choice. The question was, was Charlie using Harry's tactics? He had only one shot at this—if he got it wrong, Bill would win.

Then there was the fact that Bill had a point already. Either way, he was going to lose, but at least he would lose by less if he managed to get Bill out …

Unless …

It was a risky manoeuvre. And even more Slytherin than before. But it hadn't been agreed on as against the rules, and if it worked …

"Bill," Harry said calmly, fighting to keep his face straight, "I think you wrote 'Ron's eyes'."

"Wrong," Bill said immediately. Harry pretended to be disappointed. "Charlie, I think _you_ wrote 'Ron's eyes'."

Charlie blinked. "No I didn't."

"What? But that's the only one left!"

There was a stunned silence.

"Charlie," Harry said, "aren't you going to guess?"

"Er …" Charlie hesitated. "I think …" He looked back and forth between Bill and Harry, and said uncertainly, "Bill, you wrote … R-Ravenclaw?"

Harry hid his grin as Bill sighed in disappointment. "Yes, I did."

"And you, Charlie, wrote sapphires," Harry said before Charlie could realise his mistake. "Thanks. I do believe I've won."

"Hang on," Ron spoke up. "I'm _completely_ confused. Who wrote my eyes?"

"Oh, that was me," Harry admitted.

"But you said you thought Bill wrote it," Percy said, frowning.

"Well, if I'd guessed right, whoever was left would have known what to ask me, and I'd have lost. There was nothing in the rules about guessing our own answers."

There was a pause. "I suppose there wasn't," Percy said slowly.

"Can we make the rule that you can't say someone else has done your own," Hermione said. "It's too confusing otherwise."

"All right, all right. Anyway, that's three points to me—"

"And your turn as It," Seamus said, sitting down.

"Okay." Harry stood up and thought for a minute. "Things that you shouldn't do in a Potions lab."

Over by the bookshelves, Snape let out a strange noise that might have been a failed attempt to cover a laugh. Everyone else giggled in response.

Harry collected in the answers a minute later. "'Handstands', good one. 'Take a bath', nice. 'Play Gobstones', 'Ignore Professor Snape'—Hey, Professor Snape," Harry called across the room. "Did you write this by any chance?"

"If I had," Snape replied calmly, his mouth twitching, "I would have included a description of the detention which the crime would earn you."

"Oh, good point. I guess we can rule you out then," Harry said with a grin. "Anyway …"

The other answers given were 'Wear a wig', 'Randomly shout _Engorgio_ ', 'Swing a Kneazle', 'Dig a tunnel to Australia', 'Tickle everyone you see' and 'Turn into a penguin'. Everyone was practically wetting themselves during the round. When Fred (penguin) won, he chose, "Things you don't want to find in your bed."

Mr Weasley cleared his throat.

"Kiddie-friendly answers," Fred added reluctantly.

Harry immediately thought of 'spiders' to point at Ron this time, but figured everyone else would probably be doing that one. Instead he chose 'a Bludger'.

The other answers were 'Superglue', 'nest of Knarls', 'Manticore', 'eviction notice', 'Freezing Charm', 'pond', 'invisible spikes', 'boiling oil', 'anything with pincers', and Dean's winning answer 'volcano'.

After a Butterbeer break, Seamus suggested Musical Chairs. Snape brought the kitchen chairs into the living room and multiplied them by magic. Dumbledore then added more, insisting with a twinkle in his eye that all the other adults join in. Snape looked rather reluctant, but didn't protest, much to everyone's surprise. Since Hagrid was worried he would accidentally crush somebody and/or the chairs if he played though, he took charge of the music.

"And no magic to cheat," Ron said, looking at the group of adults.

Dumbledore smiled. "Would we?"

 **TBC …**


	19. Best Birthday Ever!

**AN:** Sorry about the updating gap, I've been away.

* * *

 **Chapter Nineteen: Best Birthday Ever!**

The chairs were arranged and Snape drew a ring on the floor around the chairs with his wand. "Nobody crosses over these while the music is playing."

Hagrid turned the music on. Harry had never played Musical Chairs before, though he sort of knew the rules, so he took his cue from the others.

It was as chaotic as it had always sounded—sixteen people rushing to get into fifteen seats. Snape turned out to be very quick, and very good at the game. Fred and George collided spectacularly trying to get to the same chair. Ron accidentally sat on Hermione's lap, and jumped off so fast he bashed heads with a passing Professor McGonagall.

In the second round, Harry's chair toppled backwards as Percy, Bill and Dumbledore all failed to beat him to it and ended up in a tangled heap on top of him.

"Ow," Harry said once the three of them had extracted themselves and seized their own seats, and he had sorted his out. "You could get very bruised doing this."

In the fourth round, Fred launched himself at the nearest chair so enthusiastically that he soared over the back and landed upside-down, while Professor McGonagall nabbed the seat.

In the fifth round, Mrs Weasley accidentally knocked Percy over. "Oh, I'm sorry, dear!" Before either of them could take the seat, Harry nipped in, and grinned at them both. Hermione and Charlie went for the same chair, and Charlie won whilst Hermione missed, and ended up wedged in between his chair and Ginny's next to it. It took a moment or two for her to extricate herself, by which time she'd lost the round.

By the last few rounds, it was a tough contest between Harry, Charlie, Dumbledore, Snape, and Ginny. All were very fast with excellent reflexes. Harry heard the twins making and taking bets on which one of them would win.

"… excellent use of elbows on Charlie's part …"

"… I dunno, Ginny's best at ducking around people …"

"… Two to one on Dumbledore; any takers?"

"Will you two stop it!" their mother said sharply.

The music stopped, and there was another mass of scuffling for seats. "Mr Potter," Snape's amused voice came from behind Harry, "I do believe that's my lap."

Harry jumped up, flushing red. "Oh!"

"You're out, birthday boy." Snape's competitive streak made his eyes gleam.

"Sorry, Harry," Dumbledore said with a grin.

Harry grinned to show he didn't mind, and joined the crowd watching the end of the game, but his mind wasn't completely on it. For the split second he had been sitting down, he could have sworn Snape had had a grip on his sides as if to stop him falling off—an automatic reflex, probably, but still, it had felt nice.

The next one out was Dumbledore, who had the misfortune of tripping on his robes in an attempt to beat Ginny to a chair, and fell flat on his face. Professor McGonagall was chortling particularly hard as she helped him up.

Charlie then jumped into a seat so enthusiastically he slid off sideways, in order for it to be grabbed by Snape.

It was the nail-biting final round, Snape against Ginny. The music seemed to go on forever. Harry caught Hagrid's eye, who grinned at him.

The music switched off, and Snape and Ginny dived neck-and-neck for the chair …

"Well," Dumbledore said in amusement. "What do we do now?"

Both of them were on the chair, half-hanging off.

"Does anyone have a measuring tape?"

"Or we could call it a draw and try again."

Hagrid put the music back on, and after only a few seconds after Snape and Ginny had stood up, he turned it off again.

"YES!" Ginny grinned and stuck her tongue out at Snape. "I win!"

"Gloating," he said, wiping his forehead, "is not polite, Miss Weasley."

But Harry couldn't really blame her. It was, after all, the most desperate ambition for half of Gryffindor to get one over on Snape. Although he was sure no-one had ever imagined it would be at Musical Chairs.

It wasn't until now that Harry got an opportunity to speak to Snape in private. As the others were sorting out the chairs, he pulled him aside and asked, not the question that had been bugging him—why—but one whose answer he was less wary of.

"How did you know?"

"Know?" Snape said blankly.

"I never said it was my birthday."

"Oh, I see. I've always known when your birthday is; half the wizarding world does," Snape answered, to Harry's unease. "I have a different question. Why _did_ you not mention it?"

"I … didn't … see any point," Harry mumbled. "No-one's ever celebrated my birthday before. Not like this, I mean … and it's not like I was expecting you to get me a present or anything …"

"I realised that. Which is precisely why I did," Snape said.

"But you've done so much for me already—"

"And who says there has to be a limit?"

Harry found he couldn't answer that. Snape smiled, and turned him around. "I think we could all do with something a bit less energetic for a while. Why don't we see what's on that table?"

Harry blinked, slightly stunned. Where the sofa and television had once been was now a table, which he was sure had not been there a few moments ago. Whatever bulky thing it was laden with was covered up with a cloth.

Before he could ask what it was, Mrs Weasley pulled the cloth off, and Harry's mouth dropped open again.

 _Presents!_

The table was positively groaning with masses of brightly-wrapped parcels. Harry had never seen so many; not even on Dudley's birthdays.

"A-are they all for m-me?" he stammered, shocked.

"No, I asked all _your_ friends to give _me_ presents on _your_ birthday," Snape said drily. There were a few sniggers. "Of course they're all for you."

Harry didn't know where to start, but Snape sat him down in a chair and the twins took it upon themselves to hand him gifts one at a time. Sirius, who hadn't been able to join in much but seemed to be amused enough watching from the sidelines, came and settled at his feet.

"This one's from Ron … this one's from Bill … this one's from Professor McGonagall … This one's from us …. So is this one …"

Harry quickly lost track of who had given what. Mrs Weasley was scribbling away on a roll of parchment, and he figured she was keeping a record for him. He unwrapped present after present.

"No idea who this is from," Fred said with a frown as he passed one over. "Just has a muddy paw print on the card."

Harry knew immediately, and sent Sirius a look of thanks. He gave a great doggy grin in response.

"This one's from—hey, this one's from Lupin!"

"Really?" Harry said in surprise.

Dumbledore spoke up. "He did want to come today, Harry, but I'm afraid it, er, wasn't a good time for him." Harry nodded in understanding. "He sends his best wishes and says happy birthday."

"This one's from—oh," George faltered. "This one's from, um, Professor Snape …"

For a moment Harry was frozen. Snape had got him a present _as well?_ The party had been more than enough!

But he took the gift with trembling hands and unwrapped it. Inside was three sets of pyjamas.

Harry grinned. One of them was a summer pair, cream-coloured cotton like the ones upstairs, only with red buttons instead of blue. The others were thicker winter pairs, one patterned with lions and the other with owls.

" _Thank_ you, Professor!" he stammered slightly. Snape just nodded, his expression unreadable.

It took Harry a while to realise that he had far more than one present from each person. Everyone except Sirius had given him at least three, and there was still more to come. He couldn't believe it. The most he had ever got in his birthday was three presents, last year, one each from Ron, Hermione and Hagrid. Now he was overflowing with them.

Lots were flying themed—Quidditch posters, broom accessories, a year's subscription to _Player's Post_. The pyjamas had not been the only clothes. Harry now owned seven t-shirts, three pairs of jeans, two jackets, a proper Muggle coat, a pair of trainers, and about a dozen pairs of socks in all different patterns, all brand new and much more his size than Dudley's hand-me-downs. He also received a tonne of books on subjects ranging from practical jokes to mystery novels, a Wizarding Wireless, a magical camera with film and developing potions, a new blank photo album, a year's subscription to _Loony Nonby_ , a watch that could read the time out loud and shout at him if he was late, and a set of fancy inks: glow in the dark, invisible, colour-changing, and one which made the words you wrote peel off the parchment and float around the room. Last but not least, Hagrid had whittled him a set of Hippogriff figurines.

Harry managed to stammer out a load more thank-yous, but couldn't formulate anything more than that. Mr and Mrs Weasley and Snape cleared away the sea of wrapping-paper while the others set up a new game.

Sirius nudged Harry pointedly, and Harry mumbled an excuse and slipped out of the room. He hurried up the stairs, and Sirius followed him into the bathroom. Once Harry had locked the door, Sirius turned back into a man.

 **TBC …**


	20. Truths, Dreams and Consequences

**Review Response to k:** Simply labelling a story as AU does not clarify what is AU about it, which is why I use the author's notes. And I _have_ read the books, many times. There is no need to be rude because my canon note was not as clear as I thought. Yes I have reworded it, but it was not _wrong_ before, just perhaps not immediately obvious. By saying I excluded HBP and DH canon, I was including the relevant backstories that were revealed in those books as HBP/DH canon, and therefore non-applicable to the story.

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty: Truths, Dreams and Consequences**

"Happy birthday, kiddo," Sirius said with a grin before Harry could speak, and pulled him into a hug. "Having a good time?"

"Uh-huh," Harry said into Sirius' chest. "Thank you so much for my watch, it's brilliant."

"You're welcome. I thought it would be a little joke between us, you know, since you meddled with time to save my life."

Harry grinned, and reluctantly let go as Sirius pulled back. "I didn't think of that. Talking of time, how did you get back here so quick for my birthday?"

"Actually, I didn't. Dumbledore told me about your, um, situation with old Snape and I thought I'd better be around in case things got ugly."

"Sirius! What if you'd been caught?"

"You expected me to trust Snivellus Snape with my godson?" Sirius said, eyebrows raised. "No, I flew straight back the moment I heard. Then Dumbledore told me Snape was throwing you a birthday party, so I talked him into telling Snape he was dogsitting for a friend so I could see what was going on. I have to say though … it hasn't exactly been what I expected."

"I know. You don't have to worry, Sirius. Snape's taken care of me brilliantly."

"Hmm," Sirius said. "Coming from you, that means a lot. You promise I have nothing to worry about?"

"Nothing. I promise. He's been really good."

" _Snape's_ been really good."

"Yes, he has. He tricked my relatives so I could get away from them during the day; he's fed me, given me money, entertained me, helped me try to get over a fear, stayed up all night with me when I had food poisoning, and now he's thrown me a bloody birthday party! You've got nothing to worry about."

"I guess not," Sirius said slowly. "Well … just keep me informed, all right? If he does anything to hurt you—"

"I'll be fine, Sirius."

They hugged again. Harry felt he could get used to this, and the thought scared him.

"C'mon, we'd better get back down before we're missed," Sirius said heavily. "You might have a job telling everyone what you were doing in a bathroom with a dog."

"I'll just say you followed me up here and I couldn't get rid of you."

Sirius turned back, and Harry let them out.

* * *

"Never have I ever …" Fred grinned wickedly, eyes fixed on Ron. "Screamed like a baby when I saw a spider."

"I'll get you for that," Ron muttered as he, along with about a third of the circle, jumped to their feet. Fred made a dive for his chair.

After Musical Chairs, anyone would have thought that the party had had their fill of chair-swapping games, but apparently not. Everyone standing rushed towards a free seat, leaving Hermione the last one standing.

She looked as smug as Fred as she said, "Never have I ever cheated in an exam."

For a moment everyone remained absolutely still. Harry tried to hide his grin, knowing Hermione was getting George back for his earlier "Never have I ever fantasised about kissing Ron".

Before the forfeit could kick in, George, scowling at her, got to his feet, as did his twin. Before Hermione could make a dash for one of the free seats, a yelp came from behind them.

Professor McGonagall jumped to her feet, her hair on fire. It disappeared the moment she was up, and for a split second everyone was frozen, before all at once they dived for chairs.

" _Professor!_ " Hermione gasped, shocked.

" _You_ cheated?" Fred and George said in unison, sounding awed.

"Divination OWL," Professor McGonagall mumbled with her hands over her reddening face. "I rigged the crystal ball."

"And on that note," Dumbledore said, stepping in quickly, "perhaps we should wrap this up and attend to our grumbling stomachs."

* * *

Harry couldn't remember the last time he'd had such a good time. By time the five birthday cakes (one each from the Weasleys, Hermione, Hagrid, Sirius … and Snape) had been finished with, he was feeling extremely full and sleepy. In addition to the mini pizzas, crisps, cheese puffs, trifle and ice cream, he'd also eaten a slice of each cake.

"Let me put those cakes away for you, dear," Mrs Weasley said, picking up the nearest two, one in each hand. "Severus, where can I put them?"

"Just leave them on the bench. There's cling film on the table."

Mrs Weasley headed towards the kitchen. Snape picked up the pile of dirty plates. Dumbledore started gathering the mostly empty food platters. "Severus, do you need us to take any food off your hands?"

Snape cast an eye over the rest of the leftovers. "There's not that much. I'm sure Potter and I can finish it up tomorrow."

"You'll be living on cake for days, though," Ron pointed out.

"You're all welcome to take a slice home," Harry said.

"Yes! Thanks! Mum, can you bring those back?"

One by one, each of Harry's friends left via Portkey, magically whisked off home in the blink of an eye.

"You never told us what's the deal with Snape," Ron said in Harry's ear as they hugged goodbye. "Why's he suddenly being so nice to you?"

"When I figure it out," Harry promised, "I'll let you know."

"You'd better. And you'd better stop being so evasive in your letters, too," Ron said pointedly as he stepped back. "See you soon, mate."

"See you."

The Weasleys disappeared, the last ones to go. Harry sagged, suddenly realising how close he was to falling asleep.

Snape's hands suddenly gripped his shoulders, apparently worried that Harry was going to keel over. "Tired?"

"Knackered." Harry sank into a chair and wrapped his arms around his bloated stomach.

"Tummy ache?"

"Ow. Yes. You haven't poisoned me again, have you?" Harry tried to joke.

Snape tutted. "I think it's much more likely to be an over-consumption of cake, Mr Potter. You have a far smaller appetite than I and _I_ would find it difficult to manage _five_ slices on top of what you'd already had. What on earth possessed you—"

Harry mumbled quietly.

"I'm sorry?"

"I said I didn't want to offend anyone."

Snape paused, a strange expression on his face. "Offend … Potter, what _are_ you talking about?"

"Well, I didn't _know_ there'd be cake, much less _five!_ So I filled up on the other stuff, but then you all turned the lights out and brought them in …"

"Yes," Snape said slowly. "And?"

"And, well, you'd each brought me one, so I didn't want anyone to feel like I was choosing someone else's cake over theirs—"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, Potter," Snape said with a sigh. "You wouldn't have offended _anyone_ , and I think you rather alarmed most of us by forcing down five, somewhat _generous_ slices of very rich cake."

" _I_ didn't cut the cakes up."

"I'm aware of that, but if you were so intent on trying every one the least you could have done is asked Molly Weasley for a _small_ slice of each."

"I … didn't think of it."

"Obviously."

"Why are you so upset?" Harry asked, confused. "You've been pretty generous with the portions when _you_ make me food."

"Maybe compared with your relatives; and only to a point. Don't blame me if it all comes back up in the night."

Harry sank down lower in the chair, now heartily embarrassed. He should have known better than to expect Snape to understand. Harry never took anything for granted. How _could_ he have refused anything, when someone had gone to such trouble to give it to him?

"Anyway," Snape said, changing the subject. "I told your aunt this morning that I needed you overnight again, so you can stay over. Why don't you take your presents upstairs? You can keep them in the spare room."

* * *

Harry set the last wooden Hippogriff in place, and then stepped back to admire his work.

His clothes were all put away neatly in drawers and the wardrobe. His wireless was on the window-sill next to the figurines. He'd tacked his posters, with Snape's permission, onto the wall. His watch was on his wrist, but he would leave it on the bedside table when he returned to the Dursleys. His books and the rest of the items were either tidily in drawers on arranged neatly on the shelves.

The spare room, which had been very bare when Harry had first seen it, now actually looked lived-in.

 _Lived in …_

The thought sent a shiver down his spine, and he did his best to shake it off.

He couldn't afford to start thinking like _that_. He didn't _live_ here; he was just a guest. One Snape didn't even really want around.

Harry tried to put the idea out of his head, and turn his attention to something else. His stomach was hurting more now, his waistband digging into him. He removed his jeans and pulled on a pair of pyjama trousers, which were much more comfortable, and selected one of his new books to read.

He had just settled himself on the bed and begun the first page, when there was a knock on the half-open door. "Potter?"

"Yes?"

Snape pushed it open and entered, carrying a mug. "Good book?"

"Barely started." Harry put it down. "What's that?"

Snape held the mug out to him. It smelled very strange, like something that could be found in the potions lab. Harry didn't want to know what was in it. "Herbal tea. For your stomach. Drink it slowly."

"Thanks." Harry felt a warm glow of affection again as he took it, and sipped it gently. The bitter taste almost made him gag, but he repressed the urge. For the millionth time, he wondered at the length Snape had gone for him again. Being ill from food poisoning was one thing; from over-eating was another. After the rebuke downstairs, Harry had been sure Snape felt he was deserving of discomfort, since he had brought it on himself.

Or maybe Snape just didn't want to be woken by him vomiting again.

Snape looked around the room in curiosity while Harry sipped the tea. "You've … organised it all well."

"Thanks."

For a moment Harry wondered if Snape had been about to say something else. Snape seemed to shake himself, and then looked back at Harry. "Are you planning to stay there all evening?"

"Um … yeah, if that's okay."

Snape nodded. "Of course it is. Just make sure you go to sleep at a sensible hour; you've had a long day. I will check on you in a while."

Harry nodded. "Okay."

"Night, Potter." Snape was almost out of the door when he added, "Happy birthday."

Harry smiled, and listened to Snape return downstairs before picking up his book again. He tried to absorb himself in the plot, which was a good one, but in the back of his mind he kept thinking _lived in_.

"Don't be ridiculous," he told himself sternly. "If you start having thoughts like that you'll ruin everything."

He was afraid, however, that the longing had already taken root.

 **TBC …**


	21. Time to Let Loose

**Chapter Twenty-One: Time to Let Loose**

Severus couldn't describe the strange feeling he had had upon seeing the spare room filled with Harry Potter's things.

Anyone who didn't know the situation, looking at that room, would have guessed that the boy was _living_ there. Of course, Severus and Harry both knew that was silly, but that was what it looked like. He had honestly expected Harry to just leave all his things in a pile in one corner, except the posters which he had asked if he could put up—so, Severus assumed, they wouldn't get crumpled—but instead Harry had arranged everything neatly as if the room was his own.

And all right, Severus had arranged for Harry to spend the night with him that night. He figured, since it was his birthday, it was only fair he got to escape his relatives for a bit longer. He hadn't intended the boy to move _in_.

Perhaps he should have said something? Or would that have had an undesired effect?

Severus thought back to when he'd rebuked Harry about the cake. He hadn't even been sharp with him, but Harry's body language had reflected the way Harry had reacted at Hogwarts when he was scolded.

And his words … Severus was an idiot, he should have seen it coming. It made sense that Harry Potter, deprived for so many years of even basic necessities, wouldn't be used to having luxuries piled on him. Of course, that was precisely _why_ Severus had hinted to the guests that they might want to be overly generous, to make up for all Harry's previous birthdays, but he had failed to think about how Harry might respond.

It was something else he would have to talk to the Weasleys about when the wards were finally done. Severus had quite a list, in fact. Harry's mindset needed some gentle correcting in quite a few areas.

In the meantime …

Severus made a cup of tea for himself and sipped it whilst staring absently at the remaining evidence of the party. He wondered what on earth was taking Albus so long with the wards. Surely they could have been finished several times by now?

It wasn't as if he was still desperate to kick Harry out. He'd grown fond of having him around—overly fond, in fact. That was what bothered him. He was honestly worried that the longer Harry stayed, the harder it would be when he moved away.

Severus had always preferred his solitude … it was easier to deal with than people. But that wasn't to say he didn't get lonely. And he feared that would increase a hundredfold once Harry was gone.

That was probably why he had reacted so oddly to seeing Harry's things filling the spare room. For a moment, Severus could have convinced himself that Harry was staying for good.

* * *

"Ah, Potter. Feeling better this morning, I hope?"

"Yes, thanks, Professor," Harry said, taking a seat at the kitchen table. "Much."

"Good. I—" He broke off as a furious hammering sounded on the front door. "What on earth …?"

"Let me in!" Petunia's muffled yet livid voice sounded through the door. "NOW!"

"Potions lab," Snape said. "Quickly!"

Harry darted into the room and closed the door—then opened it a fraction to see what was going on. Snape disappeared out of view, and Harry heard the front door open.

"Where is he?" Petunia snarled, storming into the house. "Where's the boy?"

"Working," Snape said calmly. "Can I help you, Mrs Dursley?"

"Yes you can! You and the boy are coming over, _now!_ And he is going to put it right!"

"I beg your pardon?"

" _BOY!_ " Petunia yelled.

"One moment, one moment." Snape's footsteps approached, and Harry darted further into the room and tried to look as if he was working when the door opened.

"I suppose you heard all that." Harry nodded. "Come on then, Potter."

He followed Snape and a fuming Petunia mutely across the road. Once inside Number Nine, she gripped his arm tightly and dragged him upstairs.

"Look!" she shrieked, tugging him into Dudley's bedroom.

Harry's mouth dropped open. Dudley, with Vernon kneeling next to him, was spluttering on a long, slimy purple thing hanging from his mouth … his tongue. There was an empty sweet wrapper on his pillow.

"What in blazes …" Snape said, stopping dead.

In other circumstances, Harry might have found it funny, but he had a rather awful feeling about what was coming.

"Well do something!" Vernon barked at Harry. "Reverse it!"

" _Me?_ " Harry said. "I didn't do this!" He thought he knew who had, though.

Snape drew his wand. "I can correct it, Mr Dursley. Please stand aside."

Petunia looked like she couldn't work out whether to be outraged or terrified. Snape ignored her and pointed his wand at the tongue, which began to shrink. Dudley choked as it withdrew into his mouth and turned back to pink, and then without saying thank you, he fled the room, clutching his bottom.

Snape raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

"So," Vernon said, eyeing Harry the way a shark might eye its prey. "I gave you one last warning, boy, do you remember? It's the cane for you. You're not going to be able to sit for a month."

Harry gulped and backed into Snape, who gripped his shoulder.

"Could it possibly wait until I return him later?" Snape said in a casual tone. "I still have a lot of work for him to do today, and he won't be much use to me if he can't sit down."

"Yes, go on then," Vernon said gruffly. "I need time to find the thing anyway." His eyes glinted. "Until later then, boy."

"Then we'll be going." Snape steered Harry out of the room and down the stairs. "Don't worry," he whispered as they left the house. "They'll have to get through me."

Harry wasn't entirely sure what he meant. Snape was planning on preventing them from using the cane full stop? How?

"Wait a moment, Snape!"

They stopped, and turned around. Petunia had followed them into the road, still apparently incensed. "Perhaps you could explain to me how the brat managed to hurt my Diddikins when _you're_ supposed to be keeping the little freak in line for us!"

"And I am—"

"Oh, really?" she shrieked. "Don't lie to me! I know what's going on! You're just like all the others! Fawning over him like he's some sort of—"

Harry could feel their argument attracting stares from the neighbours. He couldn't bring himself to look around.

"I do not _fawn_ over anyone," Snape said coldly, "and I do not appreciate being spoken to in that tone."

"Well what would _you_ call it? All your lot, you think you're so clever; well I've been watching you. You haven't been controlling him at all. You've been taking him on little jaunts to the beach, and feeding him whatever the hell he wants, and yesterday you threw him a birthday party!"

"How on earth did you—" Snape said, sounding flummoxed.

Petunia brandished an empty cardboard box with the words _Birthday Cake_ on it. "Not so clever, are you Snape?"

"You're—you're insane," Snape said, staring in disbelief. "Have you been going through my _bins?_ "

"I saw you put your rubbish out this morning and it had a birthday banner in it. So I had a dig around. Quite the party, I see!"

"Ah," Snape said, wincing. "Oops."

Petunia waved a threatening finger at him. "I've had it with your people who think they're better than us, that they can do what they like and we'll kowtow, who just whisk him off when they feel like it and dump him back on us when they feel like it. And they expect _us_ to fit in with _their_ whims! We're expected to be babysitters when it's convenient for _them!_ And as for _you_ , you lying bastard, you think you can just manipulate us to your heart's content!"

Snape snatched her finger and gripped it so hard she yelped. "This coming from the woman who duped a whole neighbourhood into believing your nephew was the rogue? And what disgusts me most, is that _I_ helped you do it." He tightened his grip and Petunia squeaked, trying to pull her finger out of his hand.

"HEY! Let go of my wife!" Vernon had appeared in the doorway, red as a beetroot. "What in thunder is going on?"

Snape let go of Petunia it seemed with the greatest reluctance. Vernon hurried up to them and put his arms around her.

"If you've hurt her, I—I—"

"I haven't," Snape said. "But if I had it would be no more than she deserved."

"You can't talk to us like that!"

"I can talk to you any bloody way I feel like it. You'd better pray Albus Dumbledore is in a forgiving mood when he comes to call. Try for some remorse. Or is that beyond you?"

"Remorse for _what?_ " Vernon snapped. "We've done nothing wrong!"

"We did everything he asked!" Petunia added before Snape could answer. "We took care of the boy—"

"CARE?" Snape exploded. The Dursleys cowered. "Do you even know the _meaning_ of that word, Petunia Dursley? I've _been_ in your house, remember? I've seen your so-called _care!_ I've wanted to say this for _weeks_. You are a vile, despicable woman, and your husband is a brute." Vernon spluttered, but Snape ignored him. "If I hadn't stepped in I don't doubt Harry would have starved to death by now. You've treated him like dirt his entire life. I wouldn't trust either of you to care for a _plant_ , let alone a child."

"Fine!" Vernon snapped. "You can keep him! Come on, dear." He led Petunia into Number Nine and slammed the door shut behind them.

 **TBC …**


	22. Finally Open

**AN:** Almost at the end now. Just this chapter and one more.

* * *

 **Chapter Twenty-Two: Finally Open**

The whole street was frozen. Harry couldn't quite believe what was happening. Had he just been thrown out?

The question was answered a minute later as the front door opened again, and Vernon appeared lugging Harry's trunk. Before anyone could do or say anything, he had thrown it onto the pavement, where it burst open, spilling books and robes over the road.

Harry scrambled to pick them all up, nearly knocked unconscious by Hedwig's cage as the rest of his belongings were tossed out afterwards. The door was slammed shut again.

It took Harry a moment to realise that Snape was bent down next to him, helping him pick things up. A moment later, the neighbours came over and began helping as well.

Fortunately by then Harry had all his obviously magical belongings packed away. They all helped pile his ratty clothes inside, and closed the trunk again. One of the hinges had broken.

"Harry …" Bea Sinclair said in a small voice. "I … we …"

Snape put his hand on Harry's shoulder and squeezed it. "Let's get these things inside."

He took hold of one end of the trunk and steered Harry inside, away from the shell-shocked neighbours. Once the front door was closed, he levitated the trunk into the air and up the stairs.

Harry slumped onto a chair. "They threw me out."

"You sound disappointed," Snape commented.

"No—well—it's just—What on earth am I going to do?"

Snape sighed, and gestured him into the living room. They both sat down on the sofa, moved back into place after the party.

"I have a bit of a confession," Snape said, staring into the fireplace. "When you first started coming over here, I took my … deductions, about your home life, to Albus Dumbledore."

Harry's stomach knotted itself up. "Y-you told him you thought I was being a-abused?"

"Not in so many words—I simply described what I had seen for myself," Snape said. "Funnily enough, he didn't seem too happy about it all either. Ever since he has been making arrangements for you to stay permanently with the Weasley family."

Harry's eyes widened. " _What?_ Really?"

"Yes. I thought it might be best to hold off on telling you until it was all set in place. I'm not sure if you know this, but you have—had, I should say—magical protections around your home with the Dursleys. The Headmaster has been working on putting some around the Burrow."

Harry was stunned. He didn't know what to say. Go and live with the Weasleys? _Permanently?_

His first reaction was joy. He _loved_ the Weasleys, and he _loved_ the Burrow. It would be like … like having a family, a home. At _last_. His vision blurred and he hastily wiped his eyes on his sleeve.

But then a thought occurred to him. Once he was with the Weasleys … well, that was it. He and Snape would no longer be neighbours—he would no longer be spending any time with him, not like this. Harry felt his heart tug painfully.

"Professor …"

"What is it?" Snape asked. Harry took a deep breath and took the plunge.

"I know we're not exactly friends and you don't really like me, but do you think I could visit sometimes? I'll even do work if you want, and you don't have to pay me or anything."

Snape blinked, looking completely taken aback. "Really? You want that?"

Harry nodded vigorously. To his disappointment, Snape sighed.

"I don't think that will be possible."

"Oh, I get it," Harry said in a small voice. "It's okay; it was a stupid idea, I know you don't want me around any more than you have—"

"Potter, stop it. That's not the reason. I … I _do_ like you." Harry's head shot up. Snape looked sincere. "And I have enjoyed having you around more than I ever thought possible. But …" He paused. "There's something you should know about me."

He pulled up his sleeve, and tapped his lower arm with his wand. A tattoo appeared; a skull with a serpent tongue.

"What's that?"

"It's a Dark Mark, sign of Death Eater," Snape said heavily.

Harry cursed his ignorance. "What's that?"

"A follower of the Dark Lord."

Harry gaped at Snape, who looked deadly serious. "What? You—you—"

"Followed him. Past tense."

"You … killed people?" Harry asked tentatively.

There was a long pause. "Yes."

A longer pause stretched while Harry tried to wrap his mind around it. "I don't care."

" _What?_ "

"I don't care what you did then. I know you now and bad people don't go to the lengths you did to help people they hate."

"I think that's a bit of an over-simplification," Snape said.

"I don't," Harry said firmly. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I need you to understand. Being a Death Eater is not exactly easy to walk away from. _He_ may not be very powerful anymore, but I believe one day he will come back—then there is also the question of other Death Eaters who were never convicted. For years I have been secretly loyal to Dumbledore, passing him information from among the Dark Lord's circle—and to that end, there are certain behaviours expected of me. I cannot suddenly appear to … to like … the Boy Who Lived."

Harry's stomach felt filled with lead. "Oh." He swallowed. "So you're saying … when the summer's over … it's over."

"You've got a new life ahead of you," Snape said gently. "You've got the Weasleys who would crawl over broken glass to have you. You won't need me anyway."

There was a long pause. "Professor, you remember when you said, if I had refused the cake I wouldn't have offended anyone?"

Snape frowned. "Yes …"

"Do you think that applies to going to live with them?"

Pardon? You _don't_ want to live with them?

"No. Well, yes, but … sort of."

"I think they'd be very disappointed," Snape said slowly. "They've probably been looking forward to this for a long time. But offended? No, I don't think so. They would just want to know you were happy and taken care of."

"Well, I'm happy and taken care of here," Harry said quietly.

"… _Oh_."

"And I—I love the Weasleys to bits but—I've r-really settled in here and—and I'd l-like to stay." It was a struggle to get out, against Harry's instincts of not asking for things he didn't feel he deserved. "I trust Dumbledore could and would protect us if it came to it. And I'd k-keep working for you if you like, you wouldn't even have to pay me—"

"Stop right there!" Snape exclaimed. "You'll do no such thing!"

Harry deflated. "Oh … okay then," he said in a small voice. "I'll go to the Weasleys."

"That's not what I meant, silly boy." Snape opened his arms. "Come here."

For a moment Harry was frozen, unable to believe the invitation. "R-really?"

"Really. Sod Albus and his wards. If you really want to stay with me, and I still can't imagine why you would, then you're staying with me. The Dark Lord will just have to lump it."

A slow grin spread over Harry's face and he dived into the embrace. Snape hugged him fiercely.

"And you will _not_ be doing unpaid labour in order to stay, either," he said into Harry's hair. "You will stay because … I want you to stay."

"You do?"

"Yes, Harry. I do."

* * *

How had his life changed so much in the space of a minute?

Severus was reflecting on the choice he'd made as he stared absently at the remains of Harry's birthday cakes, hearing the boy himself move around the room above. Strange, really … up until now, the thought of sacrificing his spy status had seemed such a big deal when he had considered it. But now he'd made the choice, it no longer mattered.

Harry was right. Albus would protect them. If only to protect himself against Severus should something happen to Harry. And there were other ways to get information.

But when Harry had made his plea, there was nothing on earth that could have stopped Severus from giving him what he wanted.

Hmm … He would have to look out for that. Just in case Harry ever gained the confidence and motivation for becoming as manipulative as Severus had used to think him. Though now he knew the child well, he doubted it.

The doorbell rang, pulling him from his thoughts.

"You called, Severus?" Albus said pleasantly, stepping into the house.

"I did," Severus replied. "I thought you should have an update on the Dursley situation."

"Oh?"

"Harry's been thrown out."

"Ah," Albus said. "I see. And?"

"And …" Severus took a breath, preparing himself for whatever reaction was coming. "He will be staying with me from now on."

To Severus' surprise, Albus smiled broadly. "Thank Merlin. I was beginning to wonder if I should be dropping any heavy hints."

"I beg your pardon? Were you—did you—Albus what are you talking about?"

"Well, when you told me about the Dursleys, I had a feeling that maybe once you got to know Harry a bit better, you would be choosing to take him in yourself," Albus said cheerfully. "To that end I gave you the time to work it out. Though I must say it took you long enough."

"Albus!" Severus spluttered. "Do you mean he were lying about putting wards around the Burrow?"

"Not … entirely. I _did_ put some around. It seemed sensible, since you thought I was doing them anyway, and since Harry spends so much time there; also considering that that time could be increasing if he had no need to spend so long with the Dursleys in order for the wards to work. It took about three days."

"And you've been sitting on your backside laughing at me ever since. Thanks a lot."

"So you'd rather I had moved him straight away, and taken away the chance for you and he to get to know each other?" Albus' eyes twinkled.

"All right," Severus mumbled. "No, I don't."

"There we are then. Where is young Harry?"

"Unpacking in the spare—in _his_ room." Severus paused to enjoy how those words felt.

 _Harry's room._

 _Harry's room, in my house._

 _Our_ _house!_

Yes … that felt wonderful.

 **TBC …**


	23. Moving Day Again

**Chapter Twenty-Three: Moving Day Again**

"… So I'll update Harry's school records, and contact the Floo Office about reconnecting you to Hogwarts and the Burrow," Albus finished, pocketing his copy of the to-do list.

"Thank you, Albus."

"No problem, Severus. I'll leave you two in peace." His eyes twinkled. "See you soon."

"Bye."

As Severus closed the door behind Albus, he heard feet coming down the stairs.

"You've unpacked?" he asked as Harry appeared in the kitchen, his face still flushed.

"Almost. I just remembered … I haven't had any breakfast yet."

Severus cursed himself—he'd been the boy's guardian less than an hour and already he was messing up. "So you haven't. I do apologise; it's been rather a distracting morning."

It occurred to him though as he started cutting bread, that Harry had actually reminded him rather than assuming he wouldn't get fed. This had to be a huge step forward, and he smiled.

He didn't take any notice of the sounds of a car pulling up outside, until raised voices caught their attention.

"What's going on?" Harry asked curiously.

Severus glanced out of the kitchen window, and his eyes widened in shock.

A police car was parked outside Number Nine, two uniformed officers talking to the Dursleys, both of whom looked a combination of humiliated and furious.

"I wonder who called them?"

Harry jumped to his feet and came over to the window as well. He gasped.

"What are the police doing here?"

Severus opened his mouth, and closed it again as one of the officers broke away and headed in their direction. "Looks like they want to talk to us."

Harry backed into the table. "I-I don't wanna talk to them."

"I realise that," Severus said gently, "but I have a feeling this could get messy." He reached for the phone and began dialling Albus' number.

The doorbell rang.

* * *

Dumbledore raced into the room, somewhat untidily dressed in Muggle clothes and clutching a file of papers. "I have them," he announced to the room with a small gasp.

The butterflies in Harry's stomach didn't disappear as WPC Atkins took the one he offered her.

"You see it's all official; Severus Snape is as of today Harry Potter's legal guardian." Dumbledore sat down, trying to get his breath back.

"I … see," she said slowly. Perhaps there was some sort of spell on them that stopped her asking how it had gone through so quickly, for she accepted them without question and handed them back. "That all seems to be in order."

"Are you going to arrest the Dursleys?" Harry asked in a small voice as she stood up. Severus' hand tightened on his shoulder.

"Bring them in for questioning, certainly. Whether or not they will be charged is not my call." She nodded to him and Severus. "Thank you both for your statements."

Harry followed her and Severus to the front door, and watched as she spoke with her colleague. After a few minutes he turned back to the Dursleys, who immediately broke into shouted protests.

As Vernon was bundled into the car, Dumbledore sniffed, and ventured into the kitchen. "Severus," he called, "you've left the hob on."

Severus muttered a swearword and hurried in after him.

Over outside Number Nine, Petunia broke away from the police officers who were trying to get her in the car with her husband and charged across the road towards him, like a bull after something red. Harry didn't have a chance to escape as Petunia flew at him and slapped him sharply around the face. "You ungrateful freak!" He cried out as she grasped his hair and shook him. "After all we did for—"

Suddenly she let go, making a gasping noise. Severus had reappeared, and had one hand clutched tightly around her throat.

"Touch him again," he snarled with a murderous look in his eyes, "and you'll be spending the rest of your life as a cockroach."

Petunia choked, clawing at his hands. Severus let her go with deep reluctance as the police officers reached them, and handcuffed her.

"What's going to happen to them?" Harry asked quietly as the Dursleys were driven away.

"I don't know," Severus admitted. He looked down at Harry. "Are you all right?"

Harry could still feel the sting of the slap, and judging by Severus' expression he still had Petunia's handprint on his cheek, but he nodded. He couldn't work out his feelings about the Dursleys' arrest at all, and made the decision he wasn't going to think about it anymore.

"Come on then." Severus steered him back inside and shut the door with a final _snap_. "It's time you had some breakfast."

* * *

"I never would have believed," Severus said, trying to prise the lid off the next tin of Volcanic Red, "that I would ever be painting a room in this house with Gryffindor colours."

Harry grinned. "Not _exactly_ Gryffindor colours. I thought scarlet was a bit too bright."

"So I recall. Hand me that paintbrush?"

Severus used the handle to lever up the lid. "Ah, that's better."

A week had passed since the Dursleys had thrown Harry out, and he could still barely believe it had been the best thing that had ever happened to him. He couldn't recall a time he had ever been happier.

He had a home, a _real_ home, where he was welcome and wanted, and cared for like he mattered. He had everything he needed, and a great many things he didn't! And best of all, a guardian who loved him. Yes, _loved_ him.

Although Severus had been granted guardianship, he had told Harry he would be putting in an application for actual adoption once Harry had settled in. Not only did Harry have Severus, the best guardian he could have asked for, but he was going to be his _father_ as well.

Two out of four of his bedroom walls were already done, and he and Severus made a start on the next, both dressed in old clothes splashed with red paint. It wasn't just splashed over the clothes.

"How did you get paint on your ear?" Harry asked in astonishment.

"Paint splashes if you're not careful," Severus replied. "I _did_ warn you—"

"You're blaming _me?_ "

Severus grinned. "Of course. But you can blame me for this." He flicked his brush at Harry, and a few droplets of paint appeared on his glasses.

"Hey!" Harry flicked his back. It was fatal. Within two minutes both of them were covered in it and giggling fit to burst. When the doorbell rang, Harry washed his hands and face while Severus answered.

He came back upstairs with Jane in tow when Harry was exiting the bathroom.

"Hi, Jane," he said.

For the first couple of days since the Dursleys had been arrested, the neighbours had been visiting in dribs and drabs to apologise for falling for Petunia's lies. All had looked incredibly embarrassed and ashamed of themselves, and wanted to make amends.

Severus had said he personally thought Harry had forgiven them all far too quickly, but Harry found he couldn't hold it against them. Petunia _was_ good, and Severus _had_ backed her up—something Harry had long forgiven him for. Even Severus himself had fallen for her lies to begin with—granted, he had already had a bad opinion of Harry at the time, but still. Then there was the fact that four of them had all called the police after the scene in the road. Harry found it simpler to forgive the others as well than hold a grudge. In the end he and Severus had agreed to disagree.

"Hello, Harry. My, you two have been making a mess! May I see?"

"Yeah, 'course." Harry led her into his half-painted room.

"I'll get the kettle on, shall I?" Severus asked, glancing down at his Volcanic Red-smeared hands.

"Oh, no need for that, dear. I was just on my way to the shops and thought I would drop in on the way." Jane held up a box. "Would you care for some cake?"

Severus gave a slightly pained smile.

* * *

Harry opened the door, which now had a plaque on it reading _Harry's Room_. "Ta-da!"

Ron, Hermione, and Dumbledore, who had brought them over, all stepped inside, looking around.

"I had to see it to believe it," Ron said, his eyes wide as he took it all in. "You're really living here now?"

"Yep," Harry said happily.

"With Snape?"

"Yep."

Harry was proud of his finished bedroom. The Volcanic Red walls were decorated with all his posters, and on one of the walls he had personally painted a Gryffindor lion in gold paint. The skirting boards were the same colour. The green carpet and curtains had been replaced with chocolate brown, with a white bedside rug, and his new bedding was the same shade of brown and white. All his things from his birthday and everything else was in place, except his old hand-me-downs that—apart from one set kept for things like painting walls—had found a new home in the dustbin.

"It's amazing, Harry. You really painted that lion yourself?"

He was about to reply when he heard a heavy vehicle turn into the road, and looked out of the window.

A removal van was parked outside Number Nine. The others in the room all came over to see what he was looking at.

He hadn't quite managed to work out his feelings that the Dursleys had been released. Dumbledore, who had been keeping an eye on how things worked out, had assured him and Severus that the case wasn't closed yet.

"Good riddance," Severus said in a hard voice.

Harry squared his shoulders. "They got what they wanted. Me and my freaky business out of their lives."

"I wouldn't say that," Dumbledore said. "I have a contact in the Muggle Liaison Office keeping tabs on their movements. Rest assured, wherever they go, they won't be escaping justice."

Harry decided he didn't want to know what Dumbledore had in mind. He didn't care. As long as they were out of his life, that was all that mattered.

He stepped back from the window again. "C'mon, they're not worth watching." He tried to think of a way to change of the subject. "Ron, didn't you say something about the Quidditch World Cup?"

As Ron launched into a description, eyes gleaming with excitement, Harry glanced around to see the two men quietly leaving them to it. He met Severus' eyes, and the two of them exchanged a smile before the door was closed.

No matter how many times Severus smiled at him, Harry still felt that thrill of knowing that it meant he was cherished. He didn't think he would _ever_ not feel it.

He hadn't exactly had the quietist life at Hogwarts, or out of it. He had no idea what the future held, and Severus' conviction that Voldemort would one day come back had been eating at him late at night. But he knew, no matter what could happen this coming year or beyond, he could get through it. Now he had a family to be with him all the way.

 **The End**

* * *

 **AN:** And that's it! Hope you all enjoyed, and thank you for each and every lovely review even if I didn't reply personally, I appreciate them all. I have honestly no idea if I will do a sequel, I don't really have one in mind (and I have so many other fics to write) but I don't like to say never. If I did write one, it wouldn't be for a while. Probably not for quite a long time, in fact. Anyway, thanks, and bye for now!


End file.
